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and the slush and the rain to get her Coffee five； six； seven times
in a single day。 I was so tired I could barely move—I know what it’s
like！ Sometimes she’d call me to ask where something was—her latte；
her lunch； some special； sensitive…teeth toothpaste I’d been sent to
find—it was forting to discover that at least her teeth had a bit
of sensitivity—and I hadn’t even left the building yet。 Hadn’t even
gotten outside！ That’s just her； Andy。 That’s just how it is。 You
can’t fight it anymore； or you’ll never survive。 She doesn’t mean
any harm by it； she really doesn’t。 That’s just the way she is。”
I nodded and I understood； but I just couldn’t accept that。 I hadn’t
worked anywhere else； but I just couldn’t believe that all bosses
everywhere acted like this。 But maybe they did？
I carried the lunch bag over to my desk and began the preparations
for serving her。 One by one； I used my bare hands to pluck the food
from its heat…sealed to…go containers and arrange it （stylishly； I
hoped） on one of the china plates from the overhead bin。 Slowing
only to wipe my now greasy hands on a pair of her dirty Versace
pants I hadn’t yet sent to the cleaners； I placed the plate on the
teak and tile serving tray that resided under my desk。 Next to it
went the gravy boat full of butter； the salt； and the silverware
wrapped in a linen…pleated skirt…no…longer。 A quick survey of my
artistry revealed a missing Pellegrino。 Better hurry—she’d be back
any minute！ I dashed to one of the minikitchens and palmed a fistful
of ice cubes； blowing on them to keep them from freezer…burning my
hands。 Blowing was only one itsy； bitsy； teensy step from licking
them—do I do it？ No！ Be above it； rise above it。 Do not spit in her
food or gum her ice cubes。 You’re a bigger person than that！
Her office was still empty by the time I made it back； and the only
thing left to do was pour the bottled water and place the whole
orchestrated tray on her desk。 She’d e back and perch at her
mammoth desk and call out for someone to close her doors。 And this
would be one time I’d jump up happily； enthusiastically； because it
meant not only that she’d sit quietly behind those closed doors for
a good half hour； on the phone with B…DAD； but also that it was time
for us to eat as well。 One of us could race down to the dining room
and grab the very first thing she saw and race back so the other
could go。 We would try to hide our food under our desks and behind
our puter screens just in case she came out unexpectedly。 If
there was a single unspoken but still irrefutable rule； it was that
members of theRunway staff do not eat in front of Miranda Priestly。
Period。
My watch said it was quarter after two。 My stomach said it was late
evening。 It had been seven hours since I’d shoved a chocolate scone
down my throat on the walk back to the office from Starbucks； and I
was so hungry I considered gnawing on her ribeye。
“Em； I might pass out； I’m so hungry。 I think I’m going to run down
and pick something up。 Can I get you something？”
“Are you crazy？ You haven’t served her lunch yet。 She’ll be back any
minute。”
“I’m serious。 I really don’t feel well。 I don’t think I can wait。”
The sleep deprivation and the low blood sugar were bining to make
me dizzy。 I wasn’t sure I’d be able to carry the steak tray into her
office even if she did e back sometime soon。
“Andrea； be rational！ What if you run into her in the elevator or in
reception？ She’d know that you left the office。 She’d freak！ It’s
not worth the risk。 Hold on a sec—I’ll get you something。” She
grabbed her change purse and headed out of the office。 Not four
seconds later； I saw Miranda making her way down the hall toward me。
Any thoughts of dizziness or hunger or exhaustion disappeared the
moment I spotted her tight； frowning face； and I flew out of my seat
to put the tray on her desk before she reached it herself。
I landed in my seat； head spinning； mouth dry； and totally
disoriented； just before her first Jimmy Choo crossed the threshold。
She didn’t so much as glance in my direction or； thankfully； seem to
notice that the real Emily wasn’t at her desk。 I had a feeling that
the meeting she’d just had with Mr。 Ravitz hadn’t gone so well；
although it could have just been her lingering resentment at having
to leave her office to go see someone else in theirs。 Mr。 Ravitz
was； so far； the only person in the entire building whom Miranda
rushed to acmodate。
“Ahn…dre…ah！ What is this？ Please tell me； what on earth is this？”
I raced into her office and stood before her desk； where we both
looked down at what was； quite obviously； the same lunch she ate
whenever she didn’t go out。 A quick mental checklist revealed that
nothing was missing or out of place or on the wrong side or cooked
incorrectly。 What was her problem？
“Um； it’s； uh； well； it’s your lunch；” I said quietly； making a
genuine effort not to sound sarcastic； which was difficult；
considering my statement was supremely obvious。 “Is something
wrong？”
In all fairness； I think she just parted her lips； but to my
near…delirious self； it looked like she was baring actual pointed
fangs。
“Is something wrong？” she mimicked in a high…pitched voice that
sounded nothing like my own； nothing human。 She narrowed her eyes to
slits and leaned closer； still refusing； as always； to raise her
voice。 “Yes； there’s something wrong。 Something very； very wrong。
Why do I have to e back to my office to findthis sitting on my
desk？”
It was like trying to solve one of those twisted riddles。 Why did
she have to e back to her desk to find this sitting on it； I
wondered。 Clearly； the fact that she had requested it an hour
earlier was not the correct answer； but it was the only one I had。
Did she not like the tray it was on？ No； that wasn’t possible： she’d
seen it a million times and hadn’t ever plained about it。 Had
they accidentally given her the wrong cut of meat？ No； that wasn’t
it； either。 The restaurant had once mistakenly sent me off with a
wonderful…looking filet； thinking that she was sure to enjoy it more
than the tough ribeye； but she’d almost had a full…fledged heart
attack。 She’d made me call the chef personally and scream at him
over the phone while she stood over me and told me what to say。
“I’m so sorry； miss； really I am；” he’d said softly； sounding like
the nicest guy in the world。 “I really just thought that since Ms。
Priestly is such a good customer that she’d prefer to have our best。
I didn’t charge her extra； but don’t worry； it won’t happen again； I
promise。” I felt like crying when she ordered me to tell him that he
would never be a real chef anywhere besides some second…rate steak
emporium； but I had done it。 And he had apologized and agreed； and
from that day on she’d always gotten her bloody ribeye。 So it wasn’t
that； either。 I had no idea what to say or do。
“Ahn…dre…ah。 Did Mr。 Ravitz’s assistant not tell you that we had
lunch together in that wretched dining room just a few moments ago？”
she asked slowly； as though she were trying to keep herself from
losing control pletely。
Shewhat？ After all of that； after all the running and the Sebastian
ridiculousness； and the angry phone calls； and the
ninety…five…dollar meal； and the Tiffany song； and the food
arranging； and the dizziness； and the waiting to eat until she came
back； andshe’d already eaten？
“Uh； no； we didn’t get a call from her at all。 So； uh； does that
mean you don’t want this？” I asked； motioning to the tray。
She looked at me as if I had just suggested she eat one of the
twins。 “What do you think that means； Emily？” Shit！ She’d been doing
so well with my name。
“I guess that； uh； well； that you don’t want it。”
“That’s very perceptive of you； Emily。 I’m lucky you’re such a quick
study。 Now remove it。 And make sure this does not happen again。
That’s all。”
A quick fantasy flashed forward； one in which I would； just like in
the movies； sweep my arm across the desk and send the whole tray
flying across the room。 She would watch and； shocked into
contriteness； apologize profusely for speaking to me like that。 But
the clicking of her nails against the desk brought me back to
reality； and I quickly picked up the tray and carefully walked out
of her office。
“Ahn…dre…ah； close the door！ I need a moment！” she called。 I guess
that having a gourmet lunch appear on her desk that she didn’t feel
like eating had been a r