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“Hello？ This is Andrea Sachs；” I said as professionally as
possible； already making over/under bets with myself as to the
chance it was anyone besides Miranda。
“Ahn…dre…ah！ What time does your watch read at this moment？”
Was this a trick question？ A preface to accusing me of being
late？
“Um； let me see。 Actually； it says that it’s five…fifteen in
the morning； but obviously I haven’t switched it yet to Paris
time。 Therefore； my watch should read that it’s
eleven…fifteenA 。M。” I said cheerily； hoping to start off the
first conversation of our interminable trip on as high a note
as I dared。
“Thank you for that never…ending narrative； Ahn…dre…ah。 And
may I ask what； exactly； you’ve been doing for the past
thirty…five minutes？”
“Well； Miranda； the flight landed a few minutes late and then
I still had—”
“Because according to the itineraryyou created for me； I’m
reading that your flight arrived at ten…thirty…five this
morning。”
“Yes； that’s when it was scheduled to arrive； but you see—”
“I’ll not have you tell me what I see； Ahn…dre…ah。 That is
most certainly not acceptable behavior for the next week； do
you understand me？”
“Yes； of course。 I’m sorry。” My heart began pounding what felt
like a million beats a minute； and I could feel my face grow
hot with humiliation。 Humiliation at being spoken to that way；
but more than anything； my own shame in pandering to it。 I had
just apologized—most sincerely—to someone for not being able
to make my international flight land at the correct time and
then for not being savvy enough to figure out how to avoid
French customs entirely。
I pressed my face rather uncouthly against the window and
watched as the limo weaved its way through Paris’s bustling
streets。 The women seemed so much taller here； the men so much
more genteel； and just about everyone was beautifully dressed；
thin； and regal in their stance。 I’d only been to Paris once
before； but living out of a backpack in a hostel on the wrong
side of town didn’t quite have the same feel as watching the
chic little clothing boutiques and adorable sidewalk cafés
from the backseat of a limousine。I could get used to this； I
thought； as the driver turned around to show me where I might
find a few bottles of water if I was so inclined。
When the car pulled up to the hotel entrance； a
distinguished…looking gentleman wearing what I guessed was a
custom…made suit opened the back door for me。
“Mademoiselle Sachs； what a pleasure to finally meet you。 I am
Gerard Renaud。” His voice was smooth and confident； and his
silver hair and deeply lined face indicated he was much older
than I’d pictured when I spoke to the concierge over the
phone。
“Monsieur Renaud； it’s great to finally meet you！” Suddenly
all I wanted to do was crawl into a nice； soft bed and sleep
off my jet lag； but Renaud quickly quashed my hopes。
“Mademoiselle Andrea； Madame Priestly would like to see you in
her room immediately。 Before you’ve settled into yours； I’m
afraid。” He had an apologetic expression on his face； and for
a brief moment I felt sorrier for him than I did for myself。
Clearly he didn’t enjoy conveying this news。
“That’s fucking great；” I muttered； before noticing how
distressed this made Monsieur Renaud。 I plastered on a winning
smile and began again。 “Please excuse me； it was a terribly
long flight。 Will someone please tell me where I may find
Miranda？”
“Of course； mademoiselle。 She is in her suite and from what I
can gather； very eager to see you。” When I looked over at
Monsieur Renaud I thought I detected a slight eye…roll and
even though I’d always found him oppressively proper over the
phone； I reconsidered。 Although he was much too professional
to show it； never mind actually say anything； I considered
that he might loathe Miranda as much as I did。 Not because of
any real proof I had； but simply because it was impossible to
imagine anyonenot hating her。
The elevator opened and Monsieur Renaud smiled and ushered me
inside。 He said something in French to the bellman who was
escorting me upstairs。 Renaud bid me adieu and the bellman led
me to Miranda’s suite。 He knocked on the door and then fled；
leaving me to face Miranda alone。
I briefly wondered if Miranda herself would answer the door；
but it was impossible to imagine。 In the eleven months I’d
been letting myself in and out of her apartment； I’d yet to
catch her doing anything that even resembled work； including
such pedestrian tasks as answering the phone； removing a
jacket from a closet； or pouring a glass of water。 It was as
if her every day wasShabbat and she was once again the
observant Jew； and I was； of course； herShabbes goy 。
A pretty； uniformed maid opened the door and ushered me
inside； her sad eyes moist and staring directly at the floor。
“Ahn…dre…ah！” I heard from somewhere in the deep recesses of
the most magnificent living room I’d ever seen。 “Ahn…dre…ah；
I’ll need my Chanel suit pressed for tonight； since it was
practically ruined with wrinkles on the flight over。 You’d
think the Concorde would know how to handle luggage； but my
things look dreadful。 Also； call Horace Mann and confirm that
the girls made it to school。 You’ll be doing that every day—I
just don’t trust that Annabelle。 Make sure you speak to both
Caroline and Cassidy each night and write out a list of their
Homework assignments and uping exams。 I’ll expect a written
report in the morning； right before breakfast。 Oh； and get
Senator Schumer on the phone immediately。 It’s urgent。 Lastly；
I need you to contact that idiot Renuad and tell him I expect
him to supply me with petent staff during my stay； and if
that’s too difficult I’m sure the general manager would be
able to assist me。 That dumb girl he sent me is mentally
challenged。”
My eyes swiveled to the sorrowful girl who was currently
cowering in the foyer； looking as fearful as a cornered
hamster as she trembled and tried not to cry。 I had to assume
she understood English； so I shot her my best sympathetic
look； but she just continued to shake。 I looked around the
room and tried desperately to remember everything Miranda had
just rattled off。
“Will do；” I called in the general direction of her voice；
past the baby grand piano and the seventeen separate flower
arrangements that had been lovingly placed around the
house…size suite。 “I’ll be back in just a moment with
everything you’ve asked for。” I quietly berated myself for
ending a sentence with a preposition and took one last look
around the magnificent room。 It was； undoubtedly； the
plushest； most luxurious place I’d ever seen； with its brocade
curtains； thick； cream…colored carpeting； richly woven damask
bedspread on the king…size bed； and gold painted figurines
tucked discreetly on mahogany shelves and tables。 Only a
flat…screen TV and a sleek； silver stereo system gave any
indication that the entire place hadn’t been created and
designed in the previous century by highly skilled craftsmen
plying their trade。
I ducked past the quaking maid and into the hallway。 The
terrified bellman had reappeared。
“Could you show me to my room； please？” I asked as kindly as I
could； but he clearly thought that I would be abusing him as
well； and so once again he scurried ahead of me。
“Here； mademoiselle； I hope this is acceptable。”
About twenty yards down the hall was a door without a separate
number on it。 It opened to a minisuite； nearly an exact
replica of Miranda’s but with a smaller living room and a
queen…size bed instead of a king。 A large mahogany desk
outfitted with a multiline corporate…style phone； sleek
desktop puter； laser printer； scanner； and fax machine had
taken the place of the baby grand piano； but otherwise the
rooms were remarkably similar in their rich； soothing décor。
“Miss； this door leads to the private hallway connecting your
room and Ms。 Priestly’s；” he explained as he moved to open the
door。
“No！ It’s fine； I don’t need to see it。 Just knowing it’s
there is good enough。” I glanced at the engraved nametag
placed discreetly on the pocket of his well…pressed uniform
shirt。 “Thank you； uh； Stephan。” I rooted around in my bag for
cash to tip him but realized that I’d never thought to change
my American dollars to euros and hadn’t yet stopped at an ATM。
“Oh； I’m sorry； I； uh； only have American dollars。 Is that
OK？”
His face flushed crimson and he began apologizing profusely。
“Oh； no； miss； please do not worry about such things。 Ms。
Priestly takes care of these details when she departs。
However； since you will be needing local currency when you
leave the hotel； allow me to show you this。” He walked over to
the behemoth of a desk； slid open the top drawer； and handed
me an envelope with FrenchRunway ’s logo on it。 Inside was a
pile of euro bills； about 4；000 American dollars’ worth in
all。 The note； scribbled by Briget Jardin； the editor in chief
who’d borne the brunt of planning and scheduling for both this
trip and Miranda’s uping party； read：
Andrea； darling； delighted to have you join us！ Please find
enclosed euros for your use while in Paris。 I’ve spoken with
Monsieur Renaud and he will be on call for Miranda twenty…four
hours a day。 See below for a listing of his work and personal
numbers； as well as the numbers for the hotel’s chef； physical
fitness trainer； director of transportation； and； of course；
the general manager。 They are all familiar with Miranda’s
stays during the shows and so there should be no problems。 Of
course； I may always be reached at work or； if necessary； by
cell； Home phone； fax； or pager if either of you requires
anything at all。 If I don’t see you before Saturday’s big
soiree； I’ll look forward to meeting you there。 Lots of Love；
Briget
Folded on a sheet ofRunway stationery and tucked underneath
the cash was a list of nearly a hundred phone numbers；
enpassing everything one could need in Paris； from a chic
florist to an emergency surgeon。 These same numbers were
repeated on the last page of the detailed itinerary I’d
created for Miranda using information Briget had updated daily
and faxed over； so as of this moment there didn’t appear to be
a single contingency—short of an all…out world war—that would
prevent Miranda Priestly from viewing the spring line with the
least possible amount of stress； anxiety； and concern。
“Thank you so much； Stephan。 This is most helpful。” I peeled
off a few bills for him anyway； but he courteously pretended
not to see it and ducked back into the hallway。 I was pleased
to see that he appeared significantly less terrorized than he
had just a few moments earlier。
I somehow managed to find the people she had asked for and
figured I had a few minutes to rest my head on the
four…hundred…thread…count pillowcase； but the phone rang the
moment I closed my eyes。
“Ahn…dre…ah； e to my room immediately；” she barked before
slamming down the phone。
“Yes； of course； Miranda； thank you for asking so nicely。 It’d
be my pleasure；” I said to absolutely nobody。 I heaved my
jet…lagged body off the bed and concentrated on not getting a
heel stuck in the carpeted hallway that connected my room to
hers。 Once again； a maid answered the door when I knocked。
“Ahn…dre…ah！ One of Briget’s assistants just rang me to see
how long my speech is for today’s brunch；” she announced。 She
was paging through a copy ofWomen’s Wear Daily that someone
from the office—probably Allison； who knew the drill from her
tenure in Miranda’s office—had faxed earlier； and two
beautiful men were working on her hair and makeup。 A cheese
plate sat on the antique table beside her。
Speech？ What speech？ The only thing besides shows that was on
the itinerary today was some sort of awards luncheon that
Miranda planned to spend her usual fifteen minutes at before
bolting out of sheer boredom。
“I’m sorry。 Did you say a speech？”
“I did。” She carefully closed the paper； calmly folded it in
half； and then tossed it angrily to the floor； narrowly
missing one of the men who knelt in front of her。 “Why the
hell w