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时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第89部分

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  shredder。 My head ached from a bination of hangover and 
  anxiety; causing my empty stomach to protest with threatening 
  waves of nausea。 I was standing in the very back of the room 
  with assorted C…list reporters and others who didn’t rank high 
  enough to warrant a seat; keeping one eye on Miranda and the 
  other scoping out the least humiliating places to be sick if 
  the need arose。You remind me of myself when I was your age。 
  You remind me of myself when I was your age。 You remind me of 
  myself when I was your age 。 The words kept reverberating over 
  and over; keeping tune to the steady and persistent pounding 
  of my forehead。

  Miranda managed not to address me for nearly an hour; but 
  after that she was off and running。 Even though I was standing 
  in the same room she was; she called my Cell Phone to request 
  a Pellegrino。 From that moment on; the phone rang in ten… to 
  twelve…minute increments; each request sending another shock 
  of pain directly to my head。Brrring。 “Get Mr。 Tomlinson on his 
  air phone on the jet。” (B…DAD didn’t answer on his air phone 
  when I tried calling it sixteen times。)Brrring。 “Remind all 
  theRunway editors in Paris that just because they’re here does 
  not mean they can neglect their responsibilities at Home—I 
  want everything in by original deadline!” (The couple ofRunway 
  editors I had gotten in touch with at their various hotels in 
  Paris had simply laughed at me and hung up。)Brrring。 “Get me a 
  regular American turkey sandwich immediately—I’m tiring of all 
  this ham。” (I walked more than two miles in painful boots and 
  with an upset stomach; but there was no turkey to be found 
  anywhere。 I’m convinced she knew; since she’d never once 
  before asked for a turkey sandwich while in America—even 
  though; of course; they’re available on every street 
  corner。)Brrring。 “I expect dossiers prepared on the three best 
  chefs you’ve found thus far to be waiting in my suite by the 
  time we return from this show。” (Emily hacked and whined and 
  bitched but promised that she’d fax over whatever information 
  she had on the candidates so far and I could make them into 
  “dossiers。”)Brrring! Brrring! Brrring! You remind me of myself 
  when I was your age 。

  Too nauseated and crippled to watch the parade of anorexic 
  models; I ducked outside for a quick cigarette。 Naturally; the 
  moment I flicked on my lighter; my Cell Phone shrilled again。 
  “Ahn…dre…ah! Ahn…dre…ah! Where are you? Where the hell are you 
  right now?”

  I tossed out my still unlit cigarette and raced back inside; 
  my stomach churning so violently that I knew I would be 
  sick—it was just a matter of when and where。

  “I’m right in the back of the room; Miranda;” I said; sliding 
  through the door and pressing my back against the wall。 “Right 
  to the left of the door。 Do you see me?”

  I watched as she swiveled her head back and forth until her 
  eyes finally rested on mine。 I was about to hang up the phone; 
  but she was still stage whispering into it。 “Don’t move; do 
  you hear me? Do not move! One would think that my assistant 
  would understand she’s here to assist me; not to gallivant 
  around outside when I need her。 This is unacceptable; 
  Ahn…dre…ah!” By the time she’d made it to the back of the room 
  and positioned herself in front of me; a woman in a glimmering 
  floor…length silver gown with an empire waist and slight flare 
  was sashaying through the reverent crowds; and the music 
  switched from some sort of bizarre Gregorian chants to all…out 
  heavy metal。 My head began pounding almost in tune to the 
  change in music。 Miranda didn’t stop hissing when she reached 
  me; but she did; finally; flip her Cell Phone closed。 I did 
  the same。

  “Ahn…dre…ah; we have a very serious problem here。You have a 
  very serious problem。 I just received a call from Mr。 
  Tomlinson。 It seems Annabelle brought it to his attention that 
  the twins’ passports expired last week。” She stared at me; but 
  all I could do was concentrate on not throwing up。

  “Oh; really?” was all I could manage; but that clearly wasn’t 
  the right response。 Her hand tightened around her bag and her 
  eyes began to bulge with anger。

  “Oh; really?”she mimicked in a hyena…like howl。 People were 
  beginning to stare at us。 “Oh; really? That’s all you have to 
  say? ‘Oh; really?’ ”

  “No; uh; of course not; Miranda。 I didn’t mean it like that。 
  Is there something I can do to help?”

  “Is there something I can do to help?”she mimicked again; this 
  time in a whiny child’s voice。 If she had been any other 
  person on earth; I would have reached out and slapped her 
  face。 “You damn well better believe it; Ahn…dre…ah。 Since 
  you’re clearly unable to stay on top of these things in 
  advance; you’ll need to figure out how to renew them in time 
  for their flight tonight。 I will not have my own daughters 
  miss this party tomorrow night; do you understand me?”

  Did I understand her? Hmm。 A very good question indeed。 I was 
  thoroughly unable to understand how it was my fault that her 
  ten…year…olds had expired passports when they; theoretically; 
  had two parents; a stepfather; and a full…time nanny to 
  oversee such things; but I also understood it didn’t matter。 
  If she thought it was my fault; it was。 I understood that she 
  would never understand when I told her that those girls were 
  not getting on that plane tonight。 There was virtually nothing 
  I couldn’t find; fix; or arrange; but securing federal 
  documents while in a foreign country in less than three hours 
  was not happening。 Period。 She had finally made her very first 
  request of me in a full year that I could not 
  acmodate—regardless of how much she barked or demanded or 
  intimidated; it was not happening。You remind me of myself when 
  I was your age 。

  Fuck her。 Fuck Paris and fashion shows and marathon games of 
  “I’m so fat。” Fuck all the people who believed that Miranda’s 
  behavior was justified because she could pair a talented 
  photographer with some expensive clothes and walk away with 
  some pretty magazine pages。 Fuck her for even thinking that I 
  was anything like her。 And most of all; fuck her for being 
  right。 What the hell was I standing here for; getting abused 
  and belittled and humiliated by this joyless she…devil? So 
  maybe; just maybe; I; too; could be sitting at this very same 
  event thirty years from now; acpanied only by an assistant 
  who loathes me; surrounded by armies of people who pretend 
  they like me because they have to。

  I yanked out my Cell Phone and punched in a number and watched 
  as Miranda became increasingly more livid。

  “Ahn…dre…ah!” she hissed; much too ladylike to ever make a 
  scene。 “What do you think you’re doing? I’m telling you that 
  my daughters need passports immediately; and you decide it’s a 
  good time to chat on your phone? Are you under the very 
  mistaken impression that’s why I brought you to Paris?”

  My mother picked up on the third ring; but I didn’t even say 
  hello。

  “Mom; I’m getting on the next flight I can。 I’ll call you when 
  I get to JFK。 I’m ing Home。” I clicked the phone shut 
  before she could respond and looked up to see Miranda; who 
  appeared genuinely surprised。 I felt a smile break through the 
  headache and nausea when I realized that I’d rendered her 
  momentarily speechless。 Unfortunately; she recovered quickly。 
  There’s a small chance I wouldn’t have gotten fired if I’d 
  immediately pleaded and explained and lost the defiant 
  attitude; but I couldn’t seem to muster one single; tiny shred 
  of self…control。

  “Ahn…dre…ah; you realize what you’re doing; do you not? You do 
  know that if you simply leave here like this; I’m going to be 
  forced—”

  “Fuck you; Miranda。Fuck you 。”

  She gasped audibly while her hand flew to her mouth in shock; 
  and I felt not a few Clackers turn to see what the motion 
  was。 They’d begun pointing and whispering; themselves as 
  shocked as Miranda that some nobody assistant had just said 
  that—and none too quietly—to one of the great living fashion 
  legends。

  “Ahn…dre…ah!” She grabbed my upper arm with her clawlike hand; 
  but I wrenched it out of her grip and plastered on an enormous 
  smile。 I also figured it’d be an appropriate time to stop 
  whispering and let everyone in on our little secret。

  “So sorry; Miranda;” I announced in a normal voice that for 
  the first time since I’d landed in Paris wasn’t shaking 
  uncontrollably; “but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to 
  the party tomorrow。 You understand don’t you? I’m sure it’ll 
  be lovely; 
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