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时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第33部分

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  wasn’t the only one dragging myself to work at such an obscene hour。 
  He was probably getting paid 150;000 a year to be so miserable; but 
  whatever; at least I wasn’t alone。

  Benji saluted me with his lit cigarette; glowing eerily in the still 
  dark winter morning; and motioned for me to e over。 I was nervous 
  I’d be late; but Eduardo gave me his “Don’t worry; she’s not here 
  yet—you’re fine” look and I walked over to Benji。 He looked 
  bleary…eyed and hopeless。 He probably thoughthe had a tyrannical 
  boss。 Hah! If only he knew。 I wanted to laugh out loud。

  “Hey; I noticed you’re the only one here this early every day;” he 
  muttered at me while I dug around in my bag for lipstick before 
  hitting the elevators。 “What’s the deal?”

  He looked so tired; so beaten…down; that I felt a surge of sympathy 
  and kindness。 But then I felt my legs nearly give out from 
  exhaustion; and I remembered the way Lily had looked when one of 
  Benji’s dumb lacrosse buddies had asked if she’d been happy to watch 
  or really actually wanted to join in; and I lost my cool。

  “Well; my deal is that I work for a rather demanding woman; and I 
  need to get here two and a half hours before the rest of the goddamn 
  magazine so that I’m prepared for her;” I said; my tone dripping 
  with anger and sarcasm。

  “Whoa。 Just asking。 Sorry; though; it sounds pretty bad。 Which one 
  do you work for?”

  “I work for Miranda Priestly;” I said; and prayed for a nonreaction。 
  Something about having a seemingly well…educated; successful 
  professional have no idea who Miranda was made me very; very happy。 
  Delighted almost。 And luckily; this one didn’t let me down。 He 
  shrugged and inhaled and looked at me expectantly。

  “She’s the editor in chief ofRunway; ” I lowered my voice and began 
  with glee; “and pretty much the biggest bitch I’ve ever met。 I mean; 
  I’ve honestly never met anyone like her。 She’s really not even 
  human。” I had a litany of plaints I would’ve liked to have dumped 
  on Benji; but theRunway Paranoid Turnaround came on full…force。 I 
  became immediately nervous; almost paranoid; convinced that this 
  unknowing; uncaring person was somehow one of Miranda’s lackeys; 
  sent to spy on me from theObserver orPage Six。 I knew it was 
  ridiculous; pletely absurd。 After all; I had personally known 
  Benji for years now and was quite sure he wasn’t working for Miranda 
  in any capacity。 Just not totally sure。 After all; how could you be 
  totally sure? And who knew who could be standing behind me at that 
  very second; overhearing every one of my nasty words? Damage control 
  was required immediately。

  “Of course; she IS the most powerful woman in fashion and 
  publishing; and you just can’t get to the top of two major 
  industries in New York City handing out candy all day long。 Um; it’s 
  understandable that she’s a little tough to work for; you know? I 
  would be; too。 Yeah; so; um; I have to run now。 Good seeing you 
  again。” And I ducked away; as I often had the past few weeks when I 
  found myself talking to someone other than Lily or Alex or my 
  parents and I couldn’t help myself from bashing the witch。

  “Hey; don’t feel too bad;” he called after me as I headed toward the 
  elevator bank。 “I’ve been here since last Thursday morning。” And 
  with that; he dropped his smoldering butt and half…heartedly stamped 
  it into the cement。

  “Morning; Eduardo;” I said; looking at him with my best tired; 
  pathetic eyes。 “I fucking hate Mondays。”

  “Hey; buddy; don’t worry。 At least you beat her here this morning;” 
  he said; smiling。 He was referring; of course; to those miserable 
  mornings when Miranda would show up at fiveA 。M。 and need to be 
  escorted upstairs since she refused to carry an access card。 She’d 
  then pace the office; calling Emily and me over and over until one 
  of us could manage to wake up; get ready; and get to work as if a 
  national security emergency were unfolding。

  I pushed against the turnstile; praying that this Monday would be 
  the exception; that he’d let me pass without a performance。 
  Negative。

  “Yo; tell me what you want; what you really; really want;”he sang 
  with his huge; toothy smile and Spanish accent。 And all the pleasure 
  of making the cabbie happy and finding out that I had arrived ahead 
  of Miranda vanished。 I was left; as I was every morning; wanting to 
  reach across the security counter and tear the flesh from Eduardo’s 
  face。 But since I was such a good sport and he was one of my only 
  friends in the place; I weakly acquiesced。“I’ll tell you what I 
  want; what I really; really want; I wanna—I wanna—I wanna—I wanna—I 
  really; really; really wanna zigga zig aaaaaahhhh;” I sang meekly in 
  a pitiful tribute to the Spice Girls’ nineties hit。 And once again; 
  Eduardo grinned and buzzed me through。

  “Hey; don’t forget: July sixteenth!” he called after me。

  “I know; July sixteenth 。 。 。” I called back; a reference to our 
  shared birthdays。 I don’t remember how or why he had discovered my 
  birthdate; but he adored that we had the same one。 And for some 
  inexplicable reason; it became a part of our personal morning 
  ritual。 Every single goddamn day。

  There were eight elevators on the Elias…Clark side; half for floors 
  one to seventeen; half for seventeen and up。 Only the first bank 
  really mattered since most of the big names were on the first 
  seventeen floors; they advertised their presence with illuminated 
  panels over the elevator doors。 There was a free; state…of…the…art 
  gym on the second floor for employees; plete with a full Nautilus 
  circuit and at least a hundred Stairmasters; treadmills; and 
  elliptical machines。 The locker rooms had saunas; hot tubs; steam 
  rooms; and attendants in maids’ uniforms; and a salon offered 
  emergency manicures; pedicures; and facials。 There was even 
  plimentary towel service; or so I’d heard—not only did I not have 
  the time; the place was always too damn crowded between the hours of 
  sixA 。M。 and tenP 。M。 to so much as walk around。 Writers and editors 
  and sales assistants called three days ahead of time to book 
  themselves into the yoga or kick…boxing classes; and even then they 
  lost their place if they didn’t get there fifteen minutes in 
  advance。 Like nearly everything at Elias…Clark designed to make 
  employees’ lives better; it just stressed me out。

  I’d heard a rumor that there was a daycare center in the basement; 
  but I didn’t know anyone who actually had children; so I still 
  wasn’t entirely positive。 The real action began on the third floor 
  with the dining room; where so far Miranda had refused to eat among 
  the peons unless she was lunching with Irv Ravitz; Elias’s CEO; who 
  liked to eat there in a show of unity with his employees。

  Up; up; up we went; past all the other famous titles。 Most of them 
  had to share floors; with one flanking each side of the 
  receptionist’s desk; facing off behind separate glass doors。 I 
  hopped off at the seventeenth floor; checking my butt in the 
  reflection of the door’s glass。 In a stroke of empathy and genius; 
  the architect had kindly left mirrors out of the elevators in 640 
  Madison。 As usual; I’d forgotten my electronic ID card—the very same 
  one that tracked all our movements; purchases; and absences in the 
  building—and had to break onto the floor。 Sophy didn’t e in until 
  nine; so I had to bend down under her desk; find the button that 
  would release the glass doors; and sprint from the middle of the 
  reception area to the doors and yank them open before they snapped 
  locked again。 Sometimes I’d have to do this three or four times 
  until I finally caught it; but today I made it on my second attempt。

  The floor was always dark when I arrived; and I took the same route 
  to my desk every morning。 To my left when I walked in was the 
  advertising department; the girls who most loved adorning themselves 
  in Chloé T…shirts and spike…heeled boots while handing out Business 
  cards that screamed “Runway。” They were removed; wholly and 
  entirely; from anything and everything that took place on the 
  editorial side of the floor: it was editorial that picked the 
  clothes for the fashion spreads; wooed the good writers; matched the 
  accessories to the outfits; interviewed the models; edited the copy; 
  designed the layouts; and hired the photographers。 Editorial 
  traveled to hot spots around the world for shoots; got free gifts 
  and discounts from all the designers; hunted for trends; and went to 
  parties at Pastis and Float because they “had to check out what 
  people were wearing。”

  Ad sales was left to try and sell ad s
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