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missing one of the men who knelt in front of her。 “Why the
hell was I not informed that I’d be receiving some nonsense
award at today’s luncheon？” she hissed； her face contorting
with a hatred I’d never seen before。 Displeasure？ Sure。
Dissatisfaction？ All the time。 Annoyance； frustration；
generalized unHappiness？ Of course； every minute of every day。
But I’d never seen her look so downrightpissed off 。
“Um； Miranda； I’m so sorry； but it was actually Briget’s
office that RSVP’d you to the event today； and they never—”
“Stop speaking。 Stop speaking this instant！ All you ever offer
me are excuses。You are my assistant；you are the person I
designated to work things out in Paris；you are the one who
should be keeping me abreast of these things。” She was nearly
shouting now。 One of the makeup guys asked softly in English
if we would like a moment alone； but Miranda ignored him
entirely。 “It’s noon right now and I’ll be needing to leave
here in forty…five minutes。 I expect a short； succinct； and
articulate speech legibly typed and waiting in my room。 If you
cannot acplish this； see yourself Home。Permanently 。 That’s
all。”
I fled down the hallway faster than I’d ever run in heels and
whipped open my international Cell Phone before I’d made it
into my room。 It was nearly impossible to dial Briget’s work
number since my hands were shaking so badly； but somehow the
call went through。 One of her assistants answered。
“I need Briget！” I shrieked； my voice breaking when I
pronounced her name。 “Where is she？Where is she？ I need to
talk to her。Now！ ”
The girl was momentarily shocked into silence。 “Andrea？ Is
that you？”
“Yes； it’s me and I need Briget。 It’s an emergency—where the
hell is she？”
“She’s at a show； but don’t worry； she always has her Cell
Phone on。 Are you at the hotel？ I’ll have her call you right
back。”
The phone on the desk rang a mere few seconds later； but it
felt like a week。 “Andrea；” she lilted in her lovely French
accent。 “What is it； dear？ Monique said you were hysterical。”
“Hysterical？ Damn right I’m hysterical！ Briget； how could you
do this to me？ Your office made the arrangements for this
fucking luncheon and no one bothered to tell me that she is
not only receiving an award but also expected to give a
speech？”
“Andrea； calm down。 I’m sure we told—”
“And I have to write it！ Are you listening to me？ I have
forty…five fucking minutes to write an acceptance speech for
an award I know nothing about in a language I don’t speak。 Or
I’m finished。 What am I going to do？”
“All right； relax； I’m going to walk you through this。 First
of all； the ceremony is right there； at the Ritz； in one of
the salons。”
“The what？ Which salon？” I hadn’t had a chance to look around
the hotel yet； but I was reasonably sure there weren’t any
pubs in the place。
“It is French for； oh； what do you call them？ Meeting rooms。
So； she will only need to go downstairs。 It is for the French
Council on Fashion； an organization here in Paris that always
has its awards during the shows because everyone is in
town。Runway will be receiving an award for fashion coverage。
It is not such a； how do you say； big deal； almost like a
formality。”
“Great； well at least I know what it’s for。 What exactly am I
supposed to write？ Why don’t you just dictate in English and I
can get Monsieur Renaud to translate it； OK？ You start。 I’m
ready。” My voice had regained some confidence； but I could
still barely grip the pen。 The bination of exhaustion；
stress； and hunger was making it hard to focus my eyes on the
Ritz stationery that was laid out on my desk。
“Andrea； you are in luck again。”
“Oh； really？ Because I’m not feeling so lucky right now；
Briget。”
“These things are always conducted in English。 There is no
need for translation。 So you can write it； yes？”
“Yes； yes I’ll write it；” I mumbled and dropped the phone。
There wasn’t even time to consider that this was my very first
chance to show Miranda that I was capable of doing something
more sophisticated than fetching lattes。
After I hung up and began typing away at sixty words a minute—
typing was the only useful class I’d taken in all of high
school—I realized the whole thing would only take two； maybe
three minutes for Miranda to read。 There was just enough time
to gulp some of the Pellegrino and devour a few of the
strawberries someone had thoughtfully left on my small bar。If
only they could’ve left a cheeseburger； I thought。 I
remembered that I had tucked a Twix bar in my luggage that had
been neatly piled in the corner； but there wasn’t time to look
for it。 Exactly forty minutes had passed since I’d received my
marching orders。 It was time to see if I’d passed。
A different—but equally as terrified—maid answered Miranda’s
door and ushered me into the living room。 Obviously； I
should’ve remained standing； but the leather pants I’d been
wearing since the day before felt like they were permanently
stuck to my legs； and the strappy sandals that hadn’t bothered
me so much on the plane were beginning to feel like long；
flexible razor blades affixed to my heels and toes。 I chose to
perch on the overstuffed couch； but the moment my knees bent
and my butt made contact with the cushion； her bedroom door
flew open and I instinctively launched to my feet。
“Where’s my speech？” she asked automatically； while yet
another maid followed after her holding a single earring that
Miranda had forgotten to put in。 “You did write something； did
you not？” She was wearing one of her classic Chanel
suits—round collars with fur trim—and a looping strand of
extraordinarily large pearls。
“Of course； Miranda；” I said proudly。 “I think this will be
appropriate。” I walked toward her since she was making no
effort to retrieve it herself； but before I could offer her
the paper she snatched it from my hand。 I didn’t realize until
her eyes had finished moving back and forth that I’d been
holding my breath。
“Fine。 This is fine。 Certainly nothing groundbreaking； but
fine。 Let’s go。” She picked up a matching quilted Chanel purse
and placed the chain handle over her shoulder。
“Pardon？”
“I said； let’s go。 This silly little ceremony starts in
fifteen minutes； and with any luck we’ll be out of there in
twenty。 I truly loathe these things。”
There was no way to deny that I’d heard her say both “let’s”
and “we”： I was definitely expected to go with her。 I glanced
down at my leather pants and fitted blazer and figured that if
she had no problem with it—and I certainly would’ve heard if
she had—then what did it really matter？ There would probably
be fleets of assistants roaming around； tending to their
bosses； and surely no one would care what we were wearing。
The “salon” was exactly what Briget had said it would be—a
typical hotel meeting room； plete with a couple dozen round
luncheon tables and a slightly raised presentation stage with
a podium。 I stood along the back wall with a few other
employees of various kinds and watched as the president of the
council showed an incredibly unfunny； uninteresting； wholly
uninspired movie clip on how fashion affects all of our lives。
A few more people hogged the mike for the next half hour； and
then； before a single award had been presented； an army of
waiters began bringing out salads and filling wine glasses。 I
looked warily at Miranda； who appeared acutely bored and
irritated； and tried to shrink smaller behind the potted tree
I was currently leaning against to keep from falling asleep。 I
can’t be sure how long my eyes were closed； but just as I lost
all control of my neck muscles and my head started to nod
forward uncontrollably； I heard her voice。
“Ahn…dre…ah！ I don’t have time for this nonsense；” she
whispered loudly enough that a few Clackers from a nearby
table glanced up。 “I wasn’t told that I would be receiving an
award； and I wasn’t prepared to do so。 I’m leaving。” And she
turned around and began striding toward the door。
I hobbled after her but thought better of grabbing her
shoulder。 “Miranda？ Miranda？” She was clearly ignoring me。
“Miranda？ Whom would you like to accept the award on behalf
ofRunway ？” I whispered as quietly as I could and still have
her hear me。
She whipped around and stared me straight in the eyes。 “Do you
think I care？ Go up there and accept it yourself。” And before
I could say another word； she was gone。
Oh my god。 This wasn’t happening。 I would surely wake up in my
own； unglamorous； negative…thread…count…sheeted bed in just a
minute and discover that the entire day—hell； the entire
year—had just been a particularly horrid dream。 That woman
didn’t really expect me—thejunior assistant—to go up there and
accept an award forRunway ’s fashion coverage； did she？ I
looked around the room frantically to see if anyone else
fromRunway was attending the lunch。 No such luck。 I slumped
down in a seat and tried to figure out whether I should call
Emily or Briget for advice； or whether I should just leave
myself since Miranda apparently cared nothing about receiving
this honor。 My Cell Phone had just connected to Briget’s
office （who I was hoping could make it over there in time to
take the goddamn award herself） when I heard the words “。 。 。
extend our deepest appreciation to AmericanRunway for its
accurate； amusing； and always informative fashion coverage。
Please wele its world…famous editor in chief； a living
fashion icon herself； Ms。 Miranda Priestly！”
The room erupted into applause at precisely the same moment I
felt my heart stop beating。
There was no time to think； to curse Briget for letting this
all happen； to curse Miranda for leaving and taking the speech
with her； to curse myself for ever accepting this hateful job
in the first place。 My legs moved forward on their
own；left…right； left…right； and climbed the three steps to the
podium with no incident whatsoever。 Had I not been utterly
shell…shocked； I might have noticed that the enthusiastic
clapping had given way to an eerie silence as everyone tried
to figure out who I was。 But I didn’t。 Instead； some greater
force prompted me to smile； reach out to take the plaque from
the severe…looking president’s hands； and place it shakingly
on the podium in front of me。 It wasn’t until I lifted my head
and saw hundreds of eyes staring back—curious； probing；
confused eyes； all of them—that I knew for sure I would cease
breathing and die right there。
I imagine I stood like that for no longer than ten or fifteen
seconds； but the silence was so overwhelming； so
all…consuming； that I wondered if I had； in fact； died
already。 No one uttered a word。 No silver scraped plates； no
glasses clinked； no one even whispered to a neighbor about who
was standing in for Miranda Priestly。 They just watched me；
moment after moment； until I was left with no choice but to
speak。 I didn’t remember a word of the speech that I had
written an hour earlier； so I was on my own。
“Hello；” I began and heard my voice reverberate in my ears。 I
couldn’t tell if it was the microphone or the sound of blood
pounding inside my head； but it didn’t matter。 The only thing
I could hear for sure was that it was shaking—uncontrollably。
“My name is Andrea Sachs and I’m Mir—uh； I’m on staff atRunway
。 Unfortunately； Miranda； um； Ms。 Priestly had to step out for
a moment； but I would like to accept this award on her behalf。
And； of course； on behalf of everyone atRunway 。 Thank you；
um”—I couldn’t remember the name of the council or the
president here—“all so much for this； uh； this wonderful
honor。 I know I speak for everyone when I say that we are all
so honored。” Idiot！ I was stuttering and um…ing and shaking；
and I was even conscious enough at this point to notice that
the crowd had begun to twitter。 Without another word； I walked
in as dignified a manner as I could manage from the podium and
didn’t realize until I’d reached the back doors that I’d
forgotten the plaque。 A staffer followed me to the lobby；
where I’d just collapsed in a fit of exhaustion and
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