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时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第62部分

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  my way; then I look forward to reading your work。” He dug around in 
  an inside pocket and produced a leather case; from which he drew out 
  a Business card。 “I know you’re not ready yet; but when it does e 
  time to show your stuff to someone; I hope you’ll keep me in mind。”

  It took every ounce of willpower and strength to remain standing 
  upright; to make sure that my mouth had not flopped open or my knees 
  had not just given out。Hope you’ll keep me in mind? The man who 
  represented Christian Collinsworth; literary boy genius 
  extraordinaire; had just asked if I would keep him in mind。 This was 
  craziness。

  “Why thank you;” I croaked; tucking the card into my bag; from where 
  I knew I would pull it out and examine every inch of it the first 
  chance I got。 They both smiled at me; and it took a minute for me to 
  recognize this as my cue to leave。 “Well; Mr。 Brooks; um; Gabriel; 
  it was really great meeting you。 I’ve got to be getting Home now; 
  but hopefully we’ll cross paths soon。”

  “My pleasure; Andrea。 Congratulations again on scoring such a 
  fantastic job。 Right out of college and working atRunway 。 Very 
  impressive。”

  “I’ll walk you out;” Christian said; placing a hand on my elbow and 
  motioning to Gabriel that he’d be right back。

  We stopped at the bar so I could tell Lily that I was heading Home; 
  and she unnecessarily told me—in between William’s nuzzlings—that 
  she wouldn’t be joining me。 At the foot of the stairs that would 
  take me back to street level; Christian kissed me on the cheek。

  “Great running into you tonight。 And I have a feeling I’m going to 
  have to hear Gabriel talk about how great you are now; too。” He 
  grinned。

  “We barely exchanged two words;” I pointed out; wondering why 
  everyone was being so plimentary。

  “Yes; Andy; but what you don’t seem to realize is that the writing 
  world is a small one。 Whether you write mysteries or feature stories 
  or newspaper articles; everyone knows everyone。 Gabriel doesn’t have 
  to know much about you to know that you have potential: you were 
  good enough to get a job atRunway; you sound bright and articulate 
  when you talk; and hell; you’re a friend of mine。 He’s got nothing 
  to lose by giving you his card。 What does he know? He could have 
  just discovered the next best…selling author。 And trust me—Gabriel 
  Brooks is a good man for you to know。”

  “Hmm; I guess you’re right。 Well; anyway; I’ve got to get Home since 
  I’ve got to be at work again in a few hours anyway。 Thanks for 
  everything。 I really appreciate it。” I leaned up to kiss him on the 
  cheek; half expecting him to turn his face forward and half wanting 
  him to; but he just smiled。

  “More than my pleasure; Andrea Sachs。 Have a good night。” And before 
  I could e up with anything remotely clever to say; he was headed 
  back to Gabriel。

  I rolled my eyes at myself and headed to the street to hail a cab。 
  It had started to rain—nothing torrential; just a light; steady 
  stream—so of course there wasn’t a single cab free anywhere in 
  Manhattan。 I called the Elias…Clark car service; gave them my VIP 
  number; and had a car screeching to the curb exactly six minutes 
  later。 Alex had left a voice mail asking me how my day was and 
  saying that he’d be Home all night writing lesson plans。 It had been 
  too long since I surprised him。 It was time to make a little effort 
  and be spontaneous。 The driver agreed to wait as long as I needed; 
  so I ran upstairs; jumped in the shower; took a little extra time 
  making my hair look good; and threw together a bag with stuff for 
  work the next day。 Since it was already after eleven; traffic was 
  tame and we made it to Alex’s apartment in Brooklyn in under fifteen 
  minutes。 He looked genuinely happy to see me when he opened the 
  door; saying over and over and over again how he couldn’t believe 
  that I’d e all the way to Brooklyn so late on a work night and it 
  was the best surprise he could’ve hoped for。 And as I lay with my 
  head on my favorite spot on his chest; watching Conan and listening 
  to the rhythmic sound of his breathing as he played with my hair; I 
  barely thought about Christian at all。

  “Um; hi。 May I speak with your food editor please? No? OK; maybe an 
  editorial assistant; or someone who can tell me when a restaurant 
  review ran?” I asked an openly hostile receptionist at theNew York 
  Times 。 She had answered the phone by barking; “What!” and was 
  currently pretending—or perhaps not—that we didn’t speak a mon 
  language。 Persistence paid off; though; and after asking her name 
  three times (“We can’t tell our names; lady”); threatening to report 
  her to her manager (“What? You think he cares? I’ll put him on right 
  now”); and finally swearing rather emphatically that I would 
  personally show up at their Times Square offices and do everything 
  in my power to have her fired on the spot (“Oh; really? I’m not so 
  worried”); she tired of me and connected me to someone else。

  “Editorial;” snapped another hassled…sounding woman。 I wondered if 
  this is what I sounded like answering Miranda’s phone; and if not; 
  then I aspired to it。 It was such an enormous turnoff hearing a 
  voice that was so incredibly; undeniably unhappy to hear from you 
  that it almost made you just want to hang up。

  “Hi; I just had a quick question。” The words tumbled out in a 
  desperate attempt to be heard before she inevitably slammed down the 
  phone。 “I’m wondering if you ran any reviews of Asian fusion 
  restaurants yesterday?”

  She sighed as though I’d just asked her to donate one of her limbs 
  to science and then sighed again。 “Have you looked online?” Another 
  sigh。

  “Yes; yes; of course; but I can’t—”

  “Because that’s where they would be if we’d done one。 I can’t keep 
  track of every word that goes in the paper; you know。”

  I took a deep breath myself and tried to stay calm。 “Your charming 
  receptionist connected me to you since you work in the archives 
  department。 So it does in fact appear that it’s your job to keep 
  track of every word。”

  “Listen; if I had to try to track down every vague description that 
  everyone called me with every day; I wouldn’t be able to do anything 
  else。 You really need to check online。” She sighed twice more; and I 
  began to worry that she might hyperventilate。

  “No; no;you just listen for a minute;” I started; feeling primed and 
  ready to lay into this lazy girl who had a far better job than my 
  own。 “I’m calling from Miranda Priestly’s office; and it just so 
  happens that—”

  “I’m sorry; did you say you were calling from Miranda Priestly’s 
  office?” she asked; and I could feel her ears perk up across the 
  phone line。 “Miranda Priestly 。 。 。 fromRunway magazine?”

  “The one and only。 Why? Heard of her?”

  It was here that she transformed from highly put…upon editorial 
  assistant to gushing fashion slave。 “Heard of her? Of course! Is 
  anybody not familiar with Miranda Priestly? She is; like; the 
  ultimate woman in fashion。 What was it you said she was looking 
  for?”

  “A review。 Yesterday’s paper。 Asian fusion restaurant。 I didn’t see 
  it online; but I’m not sure I checked properly。” That was a bit of a 
  lie。 I had checked online and was quite sure there hadn’t been any 
  reviews of Asian fusion restaurants in theNew York Times any day in 
  the past week; but I wasn’t telling her that。 Maybe Schizophrenic 
  Editorial Girl here would work a miracle。

  So far I’d called theTimes; thePost; and theDaily News; but nothing 
  had turned up。 I’d plugged in her corporate card number to access 
  theWall Street Journal ’s paid archives and had actually found a 
  blurb on a new Thai restaurant in the Village; but I had to 
  immediately discount it when I noticed that the average entrée price 
  was only seven dollars andcitysearch listed only a single dollar 
  sign next to it。

  “Well; sure; hold on just a second here。 I’m going to check that 
  right out for you。” And all of a sudden; Little Miss “I Can’t Be 
  Expected to Remember Every Word That Goes in the Paper” was tapping 
  away on a keyboard and humming excitedly to both of us。

  My head ached from the debacle the night before。 It had been fun to 
  surprise Alex and amazingly relaxing to just laze around his 
  apartment; but for the first time in many; many months; I couldn’t 
  fall asleep。 Over and over and over again; I had pangs of guilt; 
  flashbacks of Christian kissing my neck and my then jumping in a car 
  to see Alex but tell him nothing。 Even though I tried to push it all 
  out of my mind; they kept returning; each one more i
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