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involved； we just moved together all over the makeshift dance
floor； and he sang quietly in my ear。 The rest of the room
became fuzzy—I was vaguely aware there were others dancing；
too； and somewhere someone was making a toast to something；
but at that moment the only thing with any definition was
Christian。 Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind； there
was a tiny but insistent reminder that this body against mine
was not Alex’s； but it didn’t matter at all。 Not now； not
tonight。
It was after one when I actually remembered that I was there
with Miranda； it had been hours since I’d last seen her； and I
was certain she’d forgotten all about me and headed back to
the hotel。 But when I finally pulled myself away from the
couch in his father’s study； I saw her happily chatting with
Karl Lagerfeld and Gwyneth Paltrow； all of them apparently
oblivious to the fact that they would all be waking up for the
Christian Dior show in just a few hours。 I was debating
whether or not I should approach her when she spotted me。
“Ahn…dre…ah！ e over here；” she called； her voice sounding
almost merry over the din of the party that had bee
noticeably more festive in the last few hours。 Someone had
dimmed the lights； and it was abundantly clear that the
partyers who remained had been well taken care of by the
smiling bartenders。 The annoying way she pronounced my name
didn’t even bother me in my warm and fuzzy champagne buzz。 And
even though I thought the evening couldn’t get any better； she
was clearly calling me over to introduce me to her celebrity
friends。
“Yes； Miranda？” I cooed in my most ingratiating；
thank…you…for…bringing…me…to…this…fabulous…place tone。 She
didn’t even look in my general direction。
“Get me a Pellegrino and then make sure the driver’s out
front。 I’m ready to leave now。” The two women and one man
standing next to her snickered； and I felt my face turn bright
red。
“Of course。 I’ll be right back。” I fetched the water； which
she accepted without a thank…you； and made my way through the
thinning crowd to the car。 I considered finding Christian’s
parents to thank them but thought better of it and headed
straight toward the door； where he was leaning up against the
frame with a smugly satisfied expression。
“So； little Andy； did I show you a good time tonight？” he
slurred just a little bit； and it seemed nothing short of
adorable at that moment。
“It was all right； I suppose。”
“Just all right？ Sounds to me like you wish I would’ve taken
you upstairs tonight； huh； Andy？ All in good time； my friend；
all in good time。”
I smacked him playfully on the forearm。 “Don’t flatter
yourself； Christian。 Thank your parents for me。” And； for
once； I leaned over first and kissed him on the cheek before
he could do anything else。 “G’night。”
“A tease！” he called； slurring just a little bit more。 “You’re
quite the little tease。 Bet your boyfriend loves that about
you； doesn’t he？” He was smiling now； and not cruelly。 It was
all part of the flirty game for him； but the reference to Alex
sobered me for a minute。 Just long enough to realize that I’d
had a better time tonight than I could remember having had in
many years。 The drinking and the close dancing and his hands
on my back as he pulled me against him had made me feel more
alive than in all the months since I’d been working atRunway；
months that had been filled with nothing but frustration and
humiliation and a body…numbing exhaustion。 Maybe this was why
Lily did it； I thought。 The guys； the partying； the sheer joy
of realizing you’re young and breathing。 I couldn’t wait to
call and tell her all about it。
Miranda joined me in the backseat of the limo after another
five minutes； and she even appeared to be somewhat happy。 I
wondered if she’d gotten drunk but ruled that out immediately：
the most I’d ever seen her drink was a sip of this or that；
and then only because a social situation demanded it。 She
preferred Perrier or Pellegrino to champagne and certainly a
milkshake or a latte to a cosmo； so the chances she was
actually drunk right now were slim。
After grilling me about the following day’s itinerary for the
first five minutes （luckily I’d thought to tuck a copy in my
bag）； she turned and looked at me for the first time all
evening。
“Emily—er； Ahn…dre…ah； how long have you been working for me？”
It came out of left field； and my mind couldn’t work fast
enough to figure out the ulterior motive for this sudden
question。 It felt strange to be the object of any question of
hers that wasn’t explicitly asking why I was such a fucking
idiot for not finding； fetching； or faxing something fast
enough。 She’d never actually asked about my life before。
Unless she remembered the details of our hiring interview—and
it seemed unlikely； considering she’d stared at me with
utterly blank eyes my very first day of work—then she had no
idea where； if anywhere； I’d attended college； where； if
anywhere； I lived in Manhattan； or what； if anything； I did in
the city in the few precious hours a day I wasn’t racing
around for her。 And although this question most certainly did
have a Miranda element to it； my intuition said that this
might； just maybe； be a conversation about me。
“Next month it will be a year； Miranda。”
“And do you feel you’ve learned a few things that may help you
in your future？” She peered at me； and I instantly suppressed
the urge to start rattling off the myriad things I’d
“learned”： how to find a single store or restaurant review in
a whole city or out of a dozen newspapers with few to no clues
about its genuine origin； how to pander to preteenage girls
who’d already had more life experiences than both my parents
bined； how to plead with； scream at； persuade； cry to；
pressure； cajole； or charm anyone； from the immigrant food
delivery guy to the editor in chief of a major publishing
house to get exactly what I needed； when I needed it； and； of
course； how to plete just about any challenge in under an
hour because the phrase “I’m not sure how” or “that’s not
possible” was simply not an option。 It had been nothing if not
a learning…rich year。
“Oh； of course；” I gushed。 “I’ve learned more in one year
working for you than I could’ve hoped to have learned in any
other job。 It’s been fascinating； really； seeing how a
major—themajor—magazine runs； the production cycle； what all
the different jobs are。 And； of course； being able to observe
the way you manage everything； all the decisions you make—it’s
been an amazing year。 I’m so thankful； Miranda！” So thankful
that two of my molars had been aching for weeks； too； but I
wasn’t ever able to get in to see a dentist during working
hours； but whatever。 My newfound； intimate knowledge of Jimmy
Choo’s handicraft had been well worth the pain。
Could this possibly sound believable？ I stole a glance； and
she seemed to be buying it； nodding her head gravely。 “Well；
you know； Ahn…dre…ah； that if ah…fter a year my girls have
performed well； I consider them ready for a promotion。”
My heart surged。 Was it finally happening？ Was this where she
told me that she’d already gone ahead and secured a job for me
atThe New Yorker ？ Never mind that she had no idea I would
kill to work there。 Maybe she had just figured it out because
she cares。
“I have my doubts about you； of course。 Don’t think I haven’t
noticed your lack of enthusiasm； or those sighs or faces you
make when I ask you to do something that you quite obviously
don’t feel like doing。 I’m hoping that’s just a sign of your
immaturity； since you do seem reasonably petent in other
areas。 What exactly are you interested in doing？”
Reasonably petent！ She may as well have announced I was the
most intelligent； sophisticated； gorgeous； and capable young
woman she’d ever had the pleasure of meeting。 Miranda Priestly
had just told me I was reasonably petent！
“Well； actually； it’s not that I don’t love fashion； because
of course I do。 Who wouldn’t？” I rushed on to say； keeping a
careful appraisal of her expression； which； as usual； remained
mostly unchanged。 “It’s just that I’ve always dreamt of
being a writer； so I was hoping that might； uh； be an area
I could explore。”
She folded her hands in her lap and glanced out the window。 It
was clear that this forty…five…second conversation was already
beginning to bore her； so I had to move quickly。 “Well； I
certainly have no idea if you can write a word or not； but I’m
not opposed to having you write a few short pieces for the
magazine to find out。 Perhaps a theater review or a small
writeup for the Happenings section。 As long as it doesn’t
interfere with any of your responsibilities for me； and is
done only during your own time； of course。”
“Of course； of course。 That would be wonderful！” We were
talking； really municating； and we hadn’t so much as
mentioned the words “breakfast” or “dry cleaning” yet。 Things
were going too well not to just go for it； and so I said；
“It’s my dream to work atThe New Yorker one day。”
This seemed to catch her now drifting attention； and once
again she peered at me。 “Why ever would you want to do that？
No glamour there； just nuts and bolts。” I couldn’t decide if
the question was rhetorical； so I played it safe and kept my
mouth shut。
My time was about twenty seconds from expiring； both because
we were nearing the hotel and her fleeting interest in me was
fading fast。 She was scrolling through the ining calls on
her Cell Phone； but still managed to say in the most
offhanded； casual way； “Hmm；The New Yorker 。 Condé Nast。” I
was nodding wildly； encouragingly； but she wasn’t looking at
me。 “Of course I know a great many people there。 We’ll see how
the rest of the trip goes； and perhaps I’ll make a call over
there when we return。”
The car pulled up to the entrance； and an exhausted…looking
Monsieur Renaud eclipsed the bellman who was leaning forward
to open Miranda’s door and opened it himself。
“Ladies！ I hope you had a lovely evening；” he crooned； doing
his best to smile through the exhaustion。
“We’ll be needing the car at nine tomorrow morning to go to
the Christian Dior show。 I have a breakfast meeting in the
lobby at eight…thirty。 See that I’m not disturbed before
then；” she barked； all traces of her previous humanness
evaporating like spilled water on a hot sidewalk。 And before I
could think how to end our conversation or； at the very least；
kiss up a little more for having had it at all； she walked
toward the elevators and vanished inside one。 I shot a weary；
understanding look to Monsieur Renaud and boarded an elevator
myself。
The small； tastefully arranged chocolates on a silver tray on
my bedside table only highlighted the perfection of the
evening。 In one random； unexpected night； I’d felt like a
model； hung out with one of the hottest guys I’d seen in the
flesh； and had been told by Miranda Priestly that I was
reasonably petent。 It felt like everything was finally
ing together； that the past year of sacrifice was showing
the first early signs of potentially paying off。 I collapsed
on top of the covers； still fully dressed； and gazed at the
ceiling； still unable to believe that I’d told Miranda
straight up that I wanted to work atThe New Yorker； and she
hadn’t laughed。 Or screamed。 Or in any way； shape； or form
freaked out。 She hadn’t even scoffed and told me that I was
ridiculous for not wanting to get promoted somewhere
withinRunway 。 It was almost as though—and I might be
projecting here； but I don’t think so—she had listened to me
andunderstood 。 Understood andagreed 。 It was almost too much
to prehend。
I undressed slowly； making sure to savor every minute of
tonight； going over and over in my mind the way Christian had
led me from room to room and then all over the dance floor；
the way he looked at me through those hooded lids with the
persistent curl； the way Miranda had almost； imperceptibly；
nodded when I’d said what I really wanted was to write。 A
truly glorious night； I had to say； one of the best in recent
history。 It was already