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then you’re on your own。”
“OK； thanks。 Any idea when it’ll be finished tonight？”
“Nope。 Changes every night。 You’d really have to ask the art
department。”
The Book was finally ready on the earlier side； at eight…thirty； and
after I’d retrieved it from an exhausted…looking art assistant；
Emily and I walked down to 59th Street together。 Emily was holding
an armful of freshly dry…cleaned clothes on hangers； encased in
plastic； and she explained to me that dry cleaning always
acpanied the Book。 Miranda would bring her dirty clothes to the
office； where； as my luck would have it； it was my job to call the
cleaners and let them know we had a pickup。 They would send someone
to the Elias…Clark building immediately； pick up the clothes； and
return them in perfect condition a day later。 We stored them in our
office closet until we could either hand them off to Uri or take
them to her apartment ourselves。 My job was getting more
intellectually stimulating by the minute！
“Hey； Rich！” Emily called brightly； fakely； to the pipe…chomping
dispatcher I’d met my first day。 “This is Andrea。 She’ll be taking
the Book every night； so make sure she gets a good car； OK？”
“Will do； Red。” He pulled the pipe out of his mouth and motioned
toward me。 “I’ll take good care of Blondie over here。”
“Great。 Oh； and can you have another car follow us to Miranda’s？
Andrea and I are going separate places after we drop off the Book。”
Two massive Town Cars pulled up just at that moment； and the mammoth
driver in the first car barreled out of the front seat and opened
the back door for us。 Emily climbed in first； immediately whipped
out her Cell Phone； and called out； “Miranda Priestly’s apartment；
please。” He nodded and threw the car in gear and we were off。
“Is it always the same driver？” I asked； wondering how he knew where
to go。
She motioned me to be quiet as she left a message for her roommate。
She then said； “No； but there are only so many drivers who work for
the pany。 I’ve had them all at least twenty times； so they know
their way by now。” She went back to her dialing。 I looked behind us
and saw the second empty Town Car carefully mimicking our turns and
stops。
We pulled up in front of a typical Fifth Avenue doorman building：
immaculate sidewalk； well…kept balconies； and what looked like a
gorgeous； warmly lit lobby。 A man in a tuxedo and hat immediately
came to the car and opened the door for us； and Emily got out。 I
wondered why we weren’t just going to leave the Book and the clothes
with him。 As far as I understood—and it wasn’t a lot； especially
when it came to this strange city—that’s what doormen were for。 As
in； that’s their job。 But Emily pulled a leather Louis Vuitton key
chain from her Gucci logo tote and handed it to me。
“I’ll wait here。 You take the stuff up to her apartment； Penthouse
A。 Just open her door and leave the book on the table in the foyer
and hang the clothes on the hooks by the closet。 Notin the closet；by
the closet。 And then just leave。 Whatever you do； don’t knock or
ring the doorbell。 She doesn’t like to be disturbed。 Just let
yourself in and out and be quiet！” She handed me the tangle of wire
hangers and plastic and opened her Cell Phone again。All right； I can
handle this。 Why so much drama for a book and some pants？
The elevator man smiled kindly at me and silently pressed the PH
button after turning a key。 He looked like a battered wife； dejected
and sad； as though he couldn’t fight any longer and had just made
peace with his unHappiness。
“I’ll wait here；” he said softly； staring at the floor。 “You
shouldn’t be more than a minute。”
The carpet in the hallways was a deep burgundy color； and I almost
toppled over when one of my heels got stuck in the loops。 The walls
were papered in a thick； cream…colored fabric that had tiny cream
pinstripes running the length； and there was a suede cream bench
pushed against the wall。 The French doors directly in front of me
said PH B； but I swiveled and saw identical doors with PH A。 It took
every ounce of restraint not to ring the bell； but I remembered
Emily’s warning and slid the key in the lock。 It clicked right away；
and before I could fix my hair or wonder what was on the other side；
I was standing in a large； airy foyer and smelling the most amazing
scent of lamb chops。 And there she was； delicately bringing a fork
to her mouth while two identical； black…haired little girls yelled
at each other across the table and a tall； rugged…looking man with
silver hair and a broad； face…enpassing nose read a newspaper。
“Mum； tell her that she can’t just walk in my room and take my
jeans！ She won’t listen to me；” one of them pleaded of Miranda；
who’d set down her fork and was taking a sip of what I knew to be
Pellegrino with a lime； from theleft side of the table。
“Caroline； Cassidy； enough。 I simply don’t want to hear it anymore。
Tomas； bring out some more mint jelly；” she called。 A man I presumed
to be the chef hurried into the room holding a silver bowl on a
silver serving platter。
And then I realized that I’d been standing there for nearly thirty
seconds； observing them all having dinner。 They hadn’t seen me yet；
but would as soon as I moved toward the hall table。 I did so
gingerly but felt them all turn to look。 Just as I was about to
offer some sort of greeting； I remembered making a gigantic ass out
of myself at our first meeting earlier today； stammering and
stumbling like an idiot； and I kept my mouth shut。Table； table；
table 。 There it was。Deposit book on table 。 And now for the
clothes。 I looked around frantically for the place I was supposed to
hang the dry cleaning； but I couldn’t focus。 The dinner table had
grown silent； and I could feel them all watching me。 No one said
hello。 It didn’t seem to bother the girls that there was a perfect
stranger standing in their apartment。 Finally； I saw a small coat
closet tucked away behind the door； and I managed to get every
twisted； slippery hanger on the rod。
“Not in the closet； Emily；” I heard Miranda call out； slowly；
deliberately。 “On the hooks that are provided for this exact
occasion。”
“Oh； um； hi there。”Idiot！ Shut up！ She’s not looking for a response；
just do what she says！ But I couldn’t help it。 It was just too weird
that no one had said hello or wondered who I might be； or in any way
acknowledged that someone had just let herself into their apartment
and was prowling around。 AndEmily？ Was she kidding？ Blind？ Could she
really not tell that I was not the girl who’d worked for her for
over a year already？ “I’m Andrea； Miranda。 I’m your new assistant。”
Silence。 All…pervasive； unbearable； never…ending； deafening；
debilitating silence。
I knew I shouldn’t keep talking； knew that I was digging my own
grave； but I just couldn’t help myself。 “Um； well； sorry about the
confusion。 I’ll just put these on the hooks； like you said； and let
myself out。”Stop narrating！ She doesn’t give a shit what you’re
doing。 Just do it and get out 。 “OK； then； have a nice dinner。 Nice
meeting all of you。” I turned to leave and realized that not only
was the mere act of talking ridiculous； but I was also saying stupid
things。Nice to meet you？ I hadn’t been introduced to a single one of
them。
“Emily！” I heard just as my hand reached the doorknob。 “Emily； let
this not happen tomorrow night。 We’re not interested in the
interruption。” And the doorknob turned itself in my hand and I was
finally in the hallway。 The entire thing had taken less than a
minute； but I felt like I’d just swum the entire length of an
Olympic…size pool without ing up for air。
I slumped onto the bench and took long； controlled breaths。 That
bitch！ The first time she called me Emily could’ve been a mistake；
but the second was undoubtedly deliberate。 What better way to
belittle and marginalize someone than to insist on calling them the
wrong name； after you’ve refused to so much as acknowledge their
presence in your own Home？ I knew I was the lowest…ranking life…form
at the magazine already—as Emily hadn’t yet lost an opportunity to
impress upon me—but was it really so necessary for Miranda to make
sure I was aware of it； too？
It wouldn’t have been outside the realm of reality to sit there all
night and shoot mental bullets at the PH A doors； but I heard a
throat clearing and looked up to find the sad little elevator man
watching the floor and patiently waiting for me to join him。
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