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was leaving for the European shows soon and would be gone for two
weeks； planning this party had occupied the vast majority of both
our recent workdays。 I returned to her office with a pad and pen；
preparing myself to not understand a single word she’d say。 I
considered sitting for just a moment since it’d make taking
dictation much more fortable； but wisely resisted。
She sighed as though this were so taxing she wasn’t sure if she’d
make it and tugged on the white Hermès scarf that she’d woven into a
braceletlike thing around her wrist。 “Find Natalie at Glorious Foods
and tell her that I prefer the rhubarb pote。 Do not let her
convince you that she needs to speak with me directly； because she
does not。 Also talk to Miho and make sure they understand my orders
for the flowers。 Get Robert Isabell on the phone for me sometime
before lunch to go over tablecloths； place cards； and serving trays。
Also that girl from the Met to see when I can go over to make sure
everything is set up properly； and tell her to fax over the table
configurations so I may do seating charts。 That’s all for now。”
She had rattled off that list without a single pause in her note
writing； and when she finished speaking she handed me her newly
crafted note to mail。 I finished scribbling on my pad； hoping I’d
understood everything correctly； which； considering the accent and
the rapid…fire cadence； wasn’t always simple。
“OK；” I muttered and turned to go； bringing up my Total Miranda
Words to four。Maybe I won’t break fifty； I thought。 I could feel her
eyes examining the size of my butt as I walked back to my desk and
briefly considered whipping around to walk backward like a religious
Jew would do when leaving the Wailing Wall。 Instead； I tried to
glide toward the hidden safety of my desk while picturing thousands
and thousands ofHasidim in Prada black； walking backward circles
around Miranda Priestly。
12
The blissful day I’d been waiting for； dreaming of； had finally；
finally arrived。 Miranda had not only departed the office； but she’d
left the country as well。 She’d jumped into her Concorde seat less
than an hour before to meet with a few of the European designers；
making me at present the indisputably happiest girl on the planet。
Emily kept trying to convince me that Miranda was even more
demanding when she was abroad； but I wasn’t buying it。 I was in the
middle of mapping out exactly how I was going to spend every
ecstatic moment of the next two weeks when I got an e…mail from
Alex。
Hey babe； how are you？ Hope your day is at least ok。 You must be
loving that she left； right？ Enjoy it。 Anyway； just wanted to see if
you think you’ll be able to call me around three…thirty today。 I
have a free hour then before the reading program starts and I need
to talk to you。 Nothing major； but I would like to talk。 Love； A
To which I immediately worried and replied to ask if everything was
OK； but he must have logged off right away because he never wrote
back again。 I made a mental note to call him at exactly
three…thirty； loving the feeling of freedom that es from knowing
that She wouldn’t be around to screw it up。 But just in case； I
pulled a piece ofRunway stationery from the pile and wrote CALL A；
3：30 P。M。 TODAY and taped it to the side of my monitor。 Just as I
was going to call back a friend from school who’d left a message on
my Home machine a week earlier； the phone rang。
“Miranda Priestly’s office；” I all but sighed； figuring that there
wasn’t a single person on earth I wanted to speak with at that
moment。
“Emily？ Is that you？ Emily？” The unmistakable voice filled the phone
line and seemed to seep into the air in the office。 Even though she
couldn’t have possibly heard from across the suite； Emily looked up
at me。
“Hello； Miranda。 This is Andrea。 May I help you with something？” How
on earth was this woman calling？ I quickly checked the itinerary
that Emily had typed for everyone while Miranda was in Europe and
saw that her flight had taken off a mere six minutes before and she
was already calling from the seat phone。
“Well； I should hope so。 I’ve looked at my itinerary and I just
noticed that hair and makeup for Thursday before dinner is not
confirmed。”
“Um； well； Miranda； that’s because Monsieur Renaud wasn’t able to
get an absolute confirmation from the Thursday people； but he said
it was ninety…nine percent that they’d be able to and—”
“Ahn…dre…ah； answer me this： Is ninety…nine percent the same as a
hundred？ Is it the same asconfirmed ？” But before I could answer I
heard her tell someone； most likely a flight attendant； that she
wasn’t “particularly interested in the rules and regulations
regarding the use of electronics” and to “please bore someone else
with them。”
“But ma’am； it’s against the rules； and I’m going to have to ask
that you disconnect your call until we’ve reached a cruising
altitude。 It’s simply unsafe；” she said beseechingly。
“Ahn…dre…ah； can you hear me？ Are you listening 。 。 。”
“Ma’am； I’m going to have to insist。 Now please； hang up the phone。”
My mouth was starting to ache from smiling so widely—I could only
imagine how much Miranda was hating being addressed as “ma’am；”
which； as everyone knows； connotes old lady all the way。
“Ahn…dre…ah； thestewardess is forcing me to end this call。 I’ll call
you back when thestewardess allows me to do so。 In the meantime； I
want hair and makeup confirmed； and I’d like you to begin
interviewing new girls for the nanny position。 That’s all。” It
clicked off； but not before I heard the flight attendant call her
“ma’am” one last time。
“What did she want？” Emily asked； her forehead wrinkling in intense
worry。
“She called me the right name three times in a row；” I gloated；
happy to prolong her anticipation。 “Three times； do you believe it？
I think that means we’re best friends； doesn’t it？ Who would’ve
thought？ Andrea Sachs and Miranda Priestly； BFF。”
“Andrea； what did she say？”
“Well； she wants the Thursday hair and makeup confirmed because
clearly ninety…nine percent isn’t reassuring enough。 Oh； and she
said something about interviewing for a new nanny？ I must’ve
misunderstood that one。 Whatever—she’ll call back in thirty
seconds。”
Emily took a deep breath and willed herself to endure my stupidity
with grace and style。 It clearly wasn’t easy for her。 “No； I don’t
think you misunderstood at all。 Cara is no longer with Miranda； so
obviously she’ll be needing a new nanny。”
“What？ What do you mean no longer ‘with Miranda’？ If she’s no longer
‘with Miranda；’ then where the hell is she？” I found it really hard
to believe Cara wouldn’t have told me about her abrupt departure。
“Miranda thought Cara might be happier working for someone else；”
Emily said in what I’m sure was much more diplomatic phrasing than
Miranda herself had used。 As if Miranda had ever been attuned to
other people’s Happiness！
“Emily； please。 Please tell me what really happened。”
“I gathered from Caroline that Cara had grounded the girls in their
rooms after they talked back to her the other day。 Miranda didn’t
feel it was appropriate for Cara to be making these decisions。 And I
agree。 I mean； Cara is not these girls’ mother； you know？”
So Cara had gotten fired because she made two little girls sit in
their bedrooms after they’d surely given her attitude？ “Yeah； I see
your point。 It’s definitely not a nanny’s job to look out for the
well…being of her charges；” I said； nodding solemnly。 “Cara was out
of line there。”
Emily not only didn’t react to my dripping sarcasm； but didn’t seem
to detect so much as a hint of it。 “Exactly。 And besides； Miranda
never liked that Cara didn’t speak French。 How are the girls
supposed to learn to speak it without an American accent？”
Oh； I don’t know。 Maybe from their 18；000…a…year private school；
where French was a required subject and all three of the French
teachers were native speakers？ Or perhaps from their own fluent
mother who had herself lived in France； still visited a half…dozen
times a year and could read； write； and speak the language with
perfect； lilting pronunciation？ But instead I said； “Hey； you’re
right。 No French； no nanny。 I hear you。”
“Well； regardless； it’s going to be your responsibility to find the
girls a new nanny。 Here’s the number of the agency we work with；”
she said； sending it to me in an e…mail。 “They know how
discriminating Miranda is—and rightfully so； of course—so they
usually give us good people。”
I looked at her warily and wondered what her life had been before
Miranda Priestly。 I got to sleep with my eyes open for a little
while longer before the phone rang again。 Blessedly； Emily answered
it。
“Hello； Miranda。 Yes； yes； I can hear you。 No； no problem at all。
Yes； I have confirmed hair and makeup for that Thursday。 And yes；
Andrea has already begun looking for new nannies。 We’ll have three
solid candidates ready for you to interview on your first day back。”
She cocked her head to the side and touched her pen to her lips。
“Mmm； yes。 Yes； it’s definitely confirmed。 No； it’s not ninety…nine
percent； it’s one hundred percent。 Definitely。 Yes； Miranda。 Yes； I
confirmed it myself； and I’m quite positive。 They’re looking forward
to it。 OK。 Have a nice flight。 Yes； it’s confirmed。 I’ll fax it
right now。 OK。 Good…bye。” She hung up the phone and appeared to be
shaking。
“Why doesn’t that woman understand？ I told her the hair and makeup
were confirmed。 And then I told her again。 Why did I have to tell
her fifty more times？ And do you know what she said？”
I shook my head。
“Do you know what she said？ She said that since this has all been
such a headache for her； she’d like me to redo the itinerary so that
it will reflect that hair and makeup is now confirmed and fax it to
the Ritz so she’ll have the correct one when she arrives。 I do
everything for that woman—I give her mylife —and this is how she
talks to me in return？” She looked ready to cry。 I was thrilled for
the rare opportunity to see Emily turn on Miranda； but I knew that
aRunway Paranoid Turnaround was imminent； so I had to proceed with
caution。 Strike just the right note of sympathy and indifference。
“It’s not you； Em； I promise。 She knows how hard you work—you’re an
amazing assistant to her。 If she didn’t think you did a great job；
she’d have gotten rid of you already。 She’s not exactly scared to do
it—you know what I mean？”
Emily had stopped tearing and was approaching the defiant zone
where； even though she agreed with me； she’d defend Miranda if I
said anything too outrageous。 I’d learned about the Stockholm
Syndrome in psych； in which the victims identify with their captors；
but I hadn’t really understood how it all played out。 Maybe I’d
videotape one of the little sessions here between Emily and me and
send it to the prof so next year’s freshmen could actually see it
happening firsthand。 All efforts to proceed carefully began to feel
superhuman； so I took a deep breath and dove right in。
“She’s a lunatic； Emily；” I said softly and slowly； willing her to
agree with me。 “It’s not you； it’s her。 She’s an empty； shallow；
bitter woman who has tons and tons of gorgeous clothes and not much
else。”
Emily’s face tightened noticeably； the skin on her neck and around
her cheeks pulling taut； and her hands stopped shaking。 I knew she
was going to bulldoze me at any moment； but I couldn’t stop。
“Have you ever noticed that she has no friends； Emily？ Have you？
Sure； her phone rings day and night with the world’s coolest people；
but they’re not calling to talk about their kids or their jobs or
their marriages； are they？ They’re calling because they need
something from her。 It sure seems awesome looking in； but can you
imagine if the only reason anyone ever called you was because they—”
“Stop it！” she screamed； the tears streaming down her face again。
“Just fucking shut up already！ You march into this office and think
you understand everything。 Little Miss I’m So Sarcastic and So Above
All This！ Well； you don’t understand anything。 Anything！”
“Em—”
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