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stare： there were enough clothes to constitute four or more total
preteen wardrobes。Who the hell are Cassidy and Caroline？ I wondered；
staring at the loot。 What self…respecting person wears Tommy
Hilfiger jeans—in three different colors； no less？
I must’ve looked thoroughly confused； because Leanne quite purposely
turned her back while repacking the clothes and said； “I just know
Miranda’s daughters will love this stuff。 We’ve been dressing them
for years； and Tommy insists on picking the clothes out for them
himself。” I shot her a grateful look and threw the bag over my
shoulder。
“Good luck！” she called as the elevator doors closed； a genuine
smile taking up most of her face。 “You’re lucky to have such an
awesome job！” Before she could say it； I found myself mentally
finishing the sentence—a million girls would die for it。And for that
moment； having just seen a famous designer’s studio and in
possession of thousands of dollars worth of clothes； I thought she
was right。
Once I got the hang of things； the rest of the day flew。 I debated
for a few minutes whether anyone would be mad if I took a minute to
pick up a sandwich； but I had no choice。 I hadn’t eaten anything
since my croissant at seven this morning； and it was nearly two。 I
asked the driver to pull over at a deli and decided at the last
minute to get him one； too。 His jaw dropped when I handed him the
turkey and honey mustard； and I wondered if I had made him
unfortable。
“I just figured you were hungry； too；” I said。 “You know； driving
around all day； you probably don’t have much time for lunch。”
“Thank you； miss； I appreciate it。 It’s just that I’ve been driving
around Elias…Clark girls for twelve years； and they are not so nice。
You are very nice；” he said in a thick but indeterminate accent；
looking at me in the rearview mirror。 I smiled at him and felt a
momentary flash of foreboding。 But then the moment passed and we
each munched our turkey wraps while sitting in gridlock and
listening to his favorite CD； which sounded to me like little more
than a woman shrieking the same thing over and over in an unknown
language； the whole thing set to sitar music。
Emily’s next written instruction was to pick up a pair of white
shorts that Miranda desperately needed for tennis。 I figured we’d be
headed to Polo； but she had written Chanel。 Chanel made white tennis
shorts？ The driver took me to the private salon； where an older
saleswoman whose facelift had left her eyes looking like slits
handed me a pair of white cotton…Lycra hot pants； size zero； pinned
to a silk hanger and draped in a velvet garment bag。 I looked at the
shorts； which appeared as though they wouldn’t fit a six…year…old；
and looked back to the woman。
“Um； do you really think Miranda will wear these？” I asked
tentatively； convinced the woman could open that pit…bull mouth of
hers and consume me whole。 She glared at me。
“Well； I should hope so； miss； considering they’re custom measured
and cut； according to her exact specifications；” she snarled as she
handed the minishorts over。 “Tell her Mr。 Kopelman sends his
best。”Sure； lady。 Whoever that is。
My next stop was what Emily wrote as “way downtown；” J&R puter
World near City Hall。 Seemed it was the only store in the entire
city that sold Warriors of the West； a puter game that Miranda
wanted to purchase for Oscar and Annette de la Renta’s son； Moises。
By the time I made it downtown an hour later； I’d realized that the
Cell Phone could make long…distance calls； and I was happily dialing
my parents and telling them how great the job was。
“Um； Dad？ Hi； it’s Andy。 Guess where I am now？ Yes； of course I’m at
work； but that happens to be in the backseat of a chauffeured car
cruising around Manhattan。 I’ve already been to Tommy Hilfiger and
Chanel； and after I buy this puter game； I’m on my way to Oscar
de la Renta’s apartment on Park Avenue to drop all the stuff off。
No； it’s not for him！ Miranda’s in the DR and Annette’s flying there
to meet them all tonight。 On a private plane； yes！ Dad！ It stands
for the Dominican Republic； of course！”
He sounded wary but pleased that I was so happy； and I came to
decide that I was hired as college…educated messenger。 Which was
absolutely fine with me。 After leaving the bag of Tommy clothes； the
hot pants； and the puter game with a very distinguished…looking
doorman in a very plush Park Avenue lobby （so this is what people
mean when they talk about Park Avenue！）； I headed back to the
Elias…Clark building。 When I walked into my office area； Emily was
sitting Indian…style on the floor； wrapping presents in plain white
paper with white ribbons。 She was surrounded by mountains of
red…and…white boxes； all identical in shape； hundreds； perhaps
thousands； scattered between our desks and overflowing into
Miranda’s office。 Emily was unaware that I was watching her； and I
saw that it took her only two minutes to wrap each individual box
perfectly and an additional fifteen seconds to tie on a white satin
ribbon。 She moved efficiently； not wasting a single second； piling
the wrapped white boxes in new mountains behind her。 The wrapped
pile grew and grew； but the unwrapped pile didn’t shrink。 I
estimated that she could be at it for the next four days and still
not finish。
I called her name over the eighties CD she had playing from her
puter。 “Um； Emily？ Hi； I’m back。”
She turned toward me and for a brief moment appeared to have no idea
who I was。 pletely blank。 But then my new…girl status came
rushing back。 “How’d it go？” she asked quickly。 “Did you get
everything on the list？”
I nodded。
“Even the video game？ When I called； there was only one copy left。
It was there？”
I nodded again。
“And you gave it all to the de la Rentas’ doorman on Park？ The
clothes； the shorts； everything？”
“Yep。 No problem。 It went very smoothly； and I dropped it all off a
few minutes ago。 I was wondering； will Miranda actually wear those—”
“Listen； I need to run to the bathroom and I’ve been waiting for you
to get back。 Just sit by the phone for a minute； OK？”
“You haven’t gone to the bathroom since I left？” I asked
incredulously。 It had been five hours。 “Why not？”
Emily finished tying the ribbon on the box she had just wrapped and
looked at me coolly。 “Miranda doesn’t tolerate anyone except her
assistants answering her phone； so since you weren’t here； I didn’t
want to go。 I suppose I could have run out for a minute； but I know
she’s having a hectic day； and I want to make sure that I’m always
available to her。 So no； we do not go to the bathroom—or anywhere
else—without clearing it with each other。 We need to work together
to make sure that we are doing the best job possible for her。 OK？”
“Sure；” I said。 “Go ahead。 I’ll be right here。” She turned and
walked away； and I put my hand on the desk to steady myself。 No
going to the bathroom without a coordinated war plan？ Did she really
sit in that office for the past five hours willing her bladder to
behave because she worried that a woman across the Atlantic may call
in the two and a half minutes it would take to run to the ladies’
room？ Apparently so。 It seemed a little dramatic； but I assumed that
was just Emily being overly enthusiastic。 There was no way that
Miranda actually demanded that of her assistants。 I was sure of it。
Or did she？
I picked up a few sheets of paper from the printer and saw that it
was titled “X…Mas Presents Received。” One； two； three； four；
five；six single…spaced pages of gifts； with sender and item on one
line each。 Two hundred and fifty…six presents in all。 It looked like
a wedding registry for the Queen of England； and I couldn’t take it
in fast enough。 There was a Bobby Brown makeup set from Bobby Brown
herself； a one…of…a…kind leather Kate Spade handbag from Kate and
Andy Spade； a Smythson of Bond Street burgundy leather organizer
from Graydon Carter； a mink…lined sleeping bag from Miuccia Prada； a
multistrand beaded Verdura bracelet from Aerin Lauder； a
diamond…encrusted watch from Donatella Versace； a case of champagne
from Cynthia Rowley； a matching beaded tank top and evening bag from
Mark Badgley and James Mischka； a collection of Cartier pens from
Irv Ravitz； a chinchilla muffler from Vera Wang； a zebra…print
jacket from Alberto Ferretti； a Burberry cashmere blanket from
Rosemarie Bravo。 And that was just the start。 There were handbags in
every shape and size from everyone： Herb Ritts； Bruce Weber； Giselle
Bundchen； Hillary Clinton； Tom Ford； Calvin Klein； Annie Leibovitz；
Nicole Miller； Adrienne Vittadini； Michael Kors； Helmut Lang；
Giorgio Armani； John Sahag； Bruno Magli； Mario Testino； and Narcisco
Rodriguez； to name a few。 There were dozens of donations made in
Miranda’s name to various charities； what must have been a hundred
bottles of wine and champagne； eight or ten Dior bags； a couple
dozen scented candles； a few pieces of Oriental pottery； silk
pajamas； leather…bound books； bath products； chocolates； bracelets；
caviar； cashmere sweaters； framed photographs； and enough flower
arrangements and/or potted plants to decorate one of those
five…hundred…couple mass weddings they have in soccer stadiums in
China。 Ohmigod！ Was this reality？ Was this actually happening？ Was I
now working for a woman who received 256 presents at Christmas from
some of the world’s most famous people？ Or not so famous？ I wasn’t
sure。 I recognized a few of the really obvious celebrities and
designers； but didn’t know then that the others prised some of
the most sought…after photographers； makeup artists； models；
socialites； and a whole slew of Elias…Clark executives。 Just as I
was wondering if Emily actually knew who all the people were； she
walked back in。 I tried to pretend I wasn’t reading the list； but
she didn’t mind at all。
“Crazy； isn’t it？ She is the coolest woman ever；” she gushed；
snatching the sheets off her desk and gazing at them with what can
only be described as lust。 “Have you ever seen more amazing things
in your life？ This is last year’s list。 I just pulled it out so we
know what to expect since the gifts have begun ing in already。
That’s definitely one of the best parts of the job—opening all her
presents。” I was confused。We opened her presents？ Why wouldn’t she
open them herself？ I asked as much。
“Are you out of your mind？ Miranda won’t like ninety percent of the
stuff people send。 Some of it is downright insulting； things I won’t
even show her。 Like this；” she said； picking up a small box。 It was
a Bang and Olufsen portable phone in their signature sleek silver
with all rounded edges and the capability to remain clear for
something like 2；000 miles。 I had been in the store just a couple
weeks earlier； watching Alex salivate over their stereo systems； and
I knew the phone cost upward of five hundred dollars and could do
everything short of holding a conversationfor you。 “A phone？ Do you
believe someone had the nerve to send Miranda Priestly aphone ？” She
tossed it to me。 “Keep it if you want it： I would never even let her
see this。 She’d be annoyed that someone sent somethingelectronic 。”
She pronounced the word “electronic” as though it were synonymous
with “covered in bodily fluids。”
I tucked the phone box under my desk and tried to keep the smile off
my face。 It was too perfect！ A portable phone was on my list of
stuff that I still needed for my new room； and I’d just gotten a
five…hundred…dollar one for free。
“Actually；” she continued； flopping down again on the floor of
Miranda’s office； Indian…style； “let’s put in a few hours wrapping
some more of these wine bottles； and then you can open the presents
that came in today。 They’re over there。” She pointed behind her desk
to a smaller mountain of boxes and bags and baskets in a multitude
of colors。
“So； these are gifts that we’re sending out from Miranda； right？” I
asked her as I picked up a box and began wrapping it in the thick
white paper。
“Yep。 Every year； it’s the same deal。 Top…tier people get bottles of
Dom。 This would include Elias execs； and the big designers who
aren’t also personal friends。 Her lawyer and accountant。 Midlevel