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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
acpanied 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 uping 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
totalk 。
“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；” Emily managed through clenched teeth。 “She’s the
best。” She grinned。
I grinned。
Mr。 Tomlinson grinned with extra wattage； and I wondered if he had a
chemical imbalance； perhaps hypomania。
“Well； Mr。 T。 had better be on his way。 It’s always lovely chatting
with you girls。 Have a nice morning； both of you。 Good…bye now。”
“’Bye； Mr。 Tomlinson！” Emily called as he rounded the corner in the
hallway on his way to reception。
“Why were you so rude to him？” she asked as she pulled the flimsy
leather blazer off； only to reveal a flimsier chiffon scoop…neck
that was laced all the way up the front like a corset。
“So rude？ I helped him unload her stuff and I talked to him before
you got here。 How is that rude？”
“Well； you didn’t say good…bye； for one thing。 And you have that
look on your face。”
“That look？”
“Yes； that look of yours。 The one that tells everyone just how far
above this you are； just how much you hate it here。 That may fly
with me； but it won’t with Mr。 Tomlinson。 He’s Miranda’shusband ；
and you just can’t treat him like that。”
“Em； don’t you think he’s a little； I don’t know 。 。 。 weird？ He
never stops talking。 How can he be so nice when she’s such a 。 。 。
so not as nice？” I watched as she glanced inside Miranda’s office to
make sure that I’d set the newspapers correctly。
“Weird？ Hardly； Andrea。 He’s one of the most prominent tax attorneys
in Manhattan。”
It wasn’t worth it。 “Never mind； I don’t even know what I’m saying。
What’s going on with you？ How was your night？”
“Oh； it was good。 I went shopping with Jessica for gifts for her
bridesmaids。 Everywhere—Scoop； Bergdorf’s； Infinity； everywhere。 And
I tried on a bunch of stuff to get some idea for Paris； but it’s
still really too early。”
“For Paris？ You’re going to Paris？ Does that mean you’ll leave me
alone with her？” I hadn’t meant to say the last part out loud； but
it had slipped。
Again； a look like I was crazy。 “Yes； I’ll be going to Paris with
Miranda in October； for the spring ready…to…wear shows。 Each year
she takes her senior assistant to the spring shows so she can see
what it’s really like。 I mean； I’ve been to； like； a million at
Bryant Park； but the European shows are just different。”
I did a quick calculation。 “In October； as in seven months from now？
You were trying on clothes for a trip seven months from now？” I
hadn’t meant for it to sound as harsh as it did； and Emily
immediately got defensive。
“Well； yes。 I mean； obviously I wasn’t going to buy anything—so many
of the styles will have changed by then。 But I just wanted to start
thinking about it。 It’s a really huge deal； you know。 Stay in
five…star hotels； go to the craziest parties ever。 And my god； you
get to go to the hottest； most exclusive fashion shows in
existence。”
Emily had already told me that Miranda went to Europe three or four
times a year for the fashion shows。 She always skipped London； like
everyone did； but she went to Milan and Paris in October for spring
ready…to…wear； in July for winter couture； and in March for fall
ready…to…wear。 Sometimes she’d hit resort； but not always。 We’d been
working like crazy to get Miranda prepared for the shows ing up
at the end of the month。 I’d wondered briefly why she wasn’t
planning on bringing an assistant。
“So why doesn’t she take you to all of them？” I decided to just go
for it； even though the answer was sure to entail a lengthy
explanation。 I was excited enough that Miranda would be out of the
office for two whole weeks （she spent one in Milan and one in Paris）
and was giddy at the thought of getting rid of Emily for a week of
that。 Visions of bacon cheeseburgers and nonprofessionally ripped
jeans and flats—oh hell； maybe even sneakers—filled my head。 “Why
just in October？”
“Well； it’s not like she doesn’t have help over there。 Italian and
FrenchRunway always send some of their assistants for Miranda； and
most of the time the editors help her themselves。 But it’s at spring
RTW that she throws a huge party； the annual kick…off party that
everyone says is the biggest and best at all the shows； all year
long。 I’ll only go for the week while she’s in Paris。 So obviously
she would only trustme to help her there。” Obviously。
“Mmm； sounds like it’ll be a great time。 So that means I just hold
down the fort here； huh？”
“Yeah； pretty much。 But don’t think that it’ll be a joke。 That will
probably be the hardest week of all because she needs a lot of
assistance when she’s away。 She’ll be calling you a lot。”
“Oh； goody；” I said。 She rolled her eyes。
I slept with my eyes open； staring at a blank puter screen； until
the office began to fill up and there were other people to watch。
TenA 。M。 brought the first of the Clackers； the quiet sipping of
no…whip skim lattes to nurse the previous night’s champagne
hangovers。 James stopped by my desk； as he did whenever he saw
Miranda wasn’t at hers； and proclaimed he’d met his future husband
at Balthazar the night before。
“He was just sitting at the bar； wearing the greatest red leather
jacket I’d ever seen—and let me tell you； he could pull it off。 You
should have seen how he slipped those oysters on his tongue 。 。 。”
He audibly groaned。 “Oh； it was just magnificent。”
“So’d you get his number？” I asked。
“Get his number？ Try get his pants。 He was butt…ass naked on my
couch by eleven； and boy； let me tell you—”
“Lovely； James。 Lovely。 Not one for playing hard to get； are you？
Sounds a little slutty of you； to be honest。 This is the age of
AIDS； you know。”
“Sweetie； even you； Miss High and Mighty
I…Date…the…World’s…Last…Angel； would’ve been on your knees without a
second thought if you saw this guy。 He’s absolutely amazing。
Amazing！”
By eleven everyone had checked everyone else out； making notations
of who had scored a pair of the new Theory “Max” pants or the
latest； impossible…to…find Sevens。 Time for a break at noon； when
conversation centered around particular items of clothing and
usually took place by the racks lined up against the walls。 Each
morning Jeffy would pull out all the racks of dresses and bathing
suits and pants and shirts and coats and shoes and everything else
that had been called in as a potential item to shoot for one of the
fashion spreads。 He lined up each rack against a wall； weaving them
throughout the entire floor so the editors could find what they
needed without having to fight their way through the Closet itself。
The Closet wasn’t really a closet at all。 It was more like a small
auditorium。 Along the perimeter were walls of shoes in every size
and color and style； a virtual Willy Wonka’s factory for
fashionistas； with dozens of slingbacks； stilettos； ballet flats；
high…heeled boots； open…toe sandals； beaded heels。 Stacked drawers；
some built…in and others just shoved in corners； held every
imaginable configuration of stockings； socks； bras； panties； slips；
camisoles； and corsets。 Need a last…minute leopard…print push…up bra
from La Perla？ Check the Closet。 How about a pair of flesh…colored
fishnets or those Dior aviators？ In the Closet。 The accessories
shelves and drawers took up the farthest two walls； and the sheer
amount of merchandise—not to mention its value—was staggering。
Fountain pens。 Jewelry。 Bed linens。 Mufflers and