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时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第6部分

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  meet Miranda。 And if I may offer a piece of advice? Look her 
  straight in the eye and sell yourself。 Sell yourself hard and she’ll 
  respect it。”

  As if on cue; Knockout Girl swept in to escort me to Miranda’s 
  office。 It was only a thirty…second walk; but I could sense that all 
  eyes were on me。 They peered at me from behind the frosted glass of 
  the editor’s office and from the open space of the assistants’ 
  cubicles。 A beauty at the copier turned to check me out; and so did 
  an absolutely magnificent man; although he was obviously gay and 
  intent on examining only my outfit。 Just as I was about to walk 
  through the doorway that would lead me to the assistants’ suite 
  outside of Miranda’s office; Emily grabbed my briefcase and tossed 
  it under her desk。 It took only a moment for me to realize that the 
  message wasCarry that; lose all credibility。 And then I was standing 
  in her office; a wide…open space of huge windows and streaming 
  bright light。 No other details about the space made an impression 
  that day; I couldn’t take my eyes off of her。

  Since I’d never seen so much as a picture of Miranda Priestly; I was 
  shocked to see howskinny she was。 The hand she held out was 
  small…boned; feminine; soft。 She had to turn her head upward to look 
  me in the eye; although she did not stand to greet me。 Her expertly 
  dyed blond hair was pulled back in a chic knot; deliberately loose 
  enough to look casual but still supremely neat; and while she did 
  not smile; she did not appear particularly intimidating。 She seemed 
  rather gentle and somewhat shrunken behind her ominous black desk; 
  and although she did not invite me to sit; I felt fortable enough 
  to claim one of the unfortable black chairs that faced her。 And 
  it was then I noticed: she was watching me intently; mentally noting 
  my attempts at grace and propriety with what seemed like amusement。 
  Condescending and awkward; yes; but not; I decided; particularly 
  mean…spirited。 She spoke first。

  “What brings you toRunway; Ahn…dre…ah?” she asked in her upper…crust 
  British accent; never taking her eyes away from mine。

  “Well; I interviewed with Sharon; and she told me that you’re 
  looking for an assistant;” I started; my voice a little shaky。 When 
  she nodded; my confidence increased slightly。 “And now; after 
  meeting with Emily; Allison; and Cheryl; I feel like I have a clear 
  understanding of the kind of person you’re looking for; and I’m 
  confident I’d be perfect for the job;” I said; remembering Cheryl’s 
  words。 She looked amused for a moment but seemed unfazed。

  It was at this point that I began to want the job most desperately; 
  in the way people yearn for things they consider unattainable。 It 
  might not be akin to getting into law school or having an essay 
  published in a campus journal; but it was; in my starved…for…success 
  mind; a real challenge—a challenge because I was an imposter; and 
  not a very good one at that。 I had known the minute I stepped on 
  theRunway floor that I didn’t belong。 My clothes and hair were wrong 
  for sure; but more glaringly out of place was my attitude。 I didn’t 
  know anything about fashion and I didn’tcare 。 At all。 And 
  therefore; I had to have it。 Besides; a million girls would die for 
  this job。

  I continued to answer her questions about myself with a 
  forthrightness and confidence that surprised me。 There wasn’t time 
  to be intimidated。 After all; she seemed pleasant enough and I; 
  amazingly; knew nothing to the contrary。 We stumbled a bit when she 
  inquired about any foreign languages I spoke。 When I told her I knew 
  Hebrew; she paused; pushed her palms flat on her desk and said 
  icily; “Hebrew? I was hoping for French; or at least something 
  moreuseful 。” I almost apologized; but stopped myself。

  “Unfortunately; I don’t speak a word of French; but I’m confident it 
  won’t be a problem。” She clasped her hands back together。

  “It says here that you studied at Brown?”

  “Yes; I; uh; I was an English major; concentrating on creative 
  writing。 writing has always been a passion。”So cheesy! I reprimanded 
  myself。Did I really have to use the word “passion”?

  “So; does your affinity for writing mean that you’re not 
  particularly interested in fashion?” She took a sip of sparkling 
  liquid from a glass and set it down quietly。 One quick glance at the 
  glass showed that she was the kind of woman who could drink without 
  leaving one of those disgusting lipstick marks。 She would always 
  have perfectly lined and filled…in lips regardless of the hour。

  “Oh no; of course not。 I adore fashion;” I lied rather smoothly。 
  “I’m looking forward to learning even more about it; since I think 
  it would be wonderful to write about fashion one day。” Where the 
  hell had I e up with that one? This was being an out…of…body 
  experience。

  Things progressed with the same relative ease until she asked her 
  final question: Which magazines did I read regularly? I leaned 
  forward eagerly and began to speak: “Well; I only subscribe toThe 
  New Yorker andNewsweek; but I regularly readThe Buzz 。 
  SometimesTime; but it’s dry; andU。S。 News is way too conservative。 
  Of course; as a guilty pleasure; I’ll skimChic; and since I just 
  returned from traveling; I read all of the travel magazines and 。 。 
  。”

  “And do you readRunway; Ahn…dre…ah?” she interrupted; leaning over 
  the desk and peering at me even more intently than before。

  It had e so quickly; so unexpectedly; that for the first time 
  that day I was caught off…guard。 I didn’t lie; and I didn’t 
  elaborate or even attempt to explain。

  “No。”

  After perhaps ten seconds of stony silence; she beckoned for Emily 
  to escort me out。 I knew I had the job。


  3

  “It sure doesn’t sound like you have the job;” Alex; my boyfriend; 
  said softly; playing with my hair as I rested my throbbing head in 
  his lap after the grueling day。 I’d gone straight from the interview 
  to his apartment in Brooklyn; not wanting to sleep on Lily’s couch 
  for another night and needing to tell him about everything that had 
  just happened。 I’d thought about staying there all the time; but I 
  didn’t want Alex to feel suffocated。 “I don’t even know why you’d 
  want it。” After a moment or two; he reconsidered。 “Actually; it does 
  sound like a pretty phenomenal opportunity。 I mean; if this girl 
  Allison started out as Miranda’s assistant and is now an editor at 
  the magazine; well; that’d be good enough for me。 Just go for it。”

  He was trying so hard to sound really excited for me。 We’d been 
  dating since our junior year at Brown; and I knew every inflection 
  of his voice; every look; every signal。 He’d just started a few 
  weeks earlier at PS 277 in the Bronx and was so worn down he could 
  barely speak。 Even though his kids were only nine years old; he’d 
  been disappointed to see how jaded and cynical they already were。 He 
  was disgusted that they all spoke freely about blow jobs; knew ten 
  different slang words for pot; and loved to brag about the stuff 
  they stole or whose cousin was currently residing in a tougher jail。 
  “Prison connoisseurs;” Alex had taken to calling them。 “They could 
  write a book on the subtle advantages of Sing Sing over Rikers; but 
  they can’t read a word of the English language。” He was trying to 
  figure out how he could make a difference。

  I slid my hand under his T…shirt and started to scratch his back。 
  Poor thing looked so miserable that I felt guilty bothering him with 
  the details of the interview; but I just had to talk about it with 
  someone。 “I know。 I understand that there wouldn’t be anything 
  editorial about the job whatsoever; but I’m sure I’ll be able to do 
  some writing after a few months;” I said。 “You don’t think it’s 
  pletely selling out to work at afashion magazine; do you?”

  He squeezed my arm and lay down next to me。 “Baby; you’re a 
  brilliant; wonderful writer; and I know you’ll be fantastic 
  anywhere。 And of course it’s not selling out。 It’s paying your dues。 
  You’re saying that if you put in a year atRunway you’ll save 
  yourself three more years of bullshit assistant work somewhere 
  else?”

  I nodded。 “That’s what Emily and Allison said; that it was an 
  automatic quid pro quo。 Work a year for Miranda and don’t get fired; 
  and she’ll make a call and get you a job anywhere you want。”

  “Then how could you not? Seriously; Andy; you’ll work your year and 
  you’ll get a job atThe New Yorker 。 It’s what you’ve always wanted! 
  And it sure sounds like you’ll get there a whole lot faster doing 
  this than anything else。”

  “You’re right; you
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