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时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第9部分

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  its size。 I had naively eyed the tiny square and decided that it had 
  to be close to a normal…size room and that I’d just buy the usual 
  bedroom set: a queen…size bed; a dresser; maybe a nightstand or two。 
  Lily and I had taken Alex’s car to Ikea; the postcollege apartment 
  mecca; and picked out a beautiful light…colored wood set and a woven 
  rug with shades of light blue; dark blue; royal blue; and indigo。 
  Again; like fashion; Home decorating was not my strong suit: I 
  believe that Ikea was into its “Blue Period。” We bought a duvet 
  cover with a blue…flecked pattern and the fluffiest forter they 
  sold。 She persuaded me to get one of those Chinese rice…paper lamps 
  for the nightstand; and I chose some preframed black…and…white 
  pictures to plement the deep red roughness of my much…hyped 
  exposed brick wall。 Elegant and casual; and not a little Zen。 
  Perfect for my first adult room in the big city。

  Perfect; that is; until it all actually arrived。 It seems simply 
  eyeing a room isn’t quite the same as measuring it。 Nothing fit。 
  Alex put the bed together and by the time he’d pushed it against the 
  exposed…brick wall (Manhattan code for “unfinished wall”) it had 
  consumed the entire room。 I had to send the delivery men back with 
  the six…drawer dresser; the two adorable nightstands; and even the 
  full…length mirror。 The men and Alex did lift up the bed; however; 
  and I was able to slip the tri…blue rug under it; and a few blue 
  inches peeked out from underneath the wooden behemoth。 The 
  rice…paper lamp had no nightstand or dresser on which to rest; so I 
  simply placed it on the floor; wedged in the six inches between the 
  bed frame and the sliding closet door。 And even though I tried 
  special mounting tape; nails; duct tape; screws; wires; Krazy Glue; 
  double…sided tape; and much cursing; the framed photos refused to 
  adhere to the exposed brick wall。 After nearly three hours of effort 
  and knuckles rubbed bleeding and raw from the brick; I finally 
  propped them up on the windowsill。 It was for the best; I thought。 
  Blocked a bit of the direct view the woman living across the 
  airshaft had into my room。 None of it mattered; though。 Not the 
  airshaft instead of a majestic skyline or the lack of drawer space 
  or the closet that was too small to hold a winter coat。 The room was 
  mine—the first I could decorate all on my own; with no input from 
  parents or roommates—and I loved it。

  It was the Sunday night before my first day of work; and I could do 
  nothing but agonize over what to wear the next day。 Kendra; the 
  nicer of my two apartmentmates; kept poking her head in and asking 
  quietly if she could help at all。 Considering the two of them wore 
  ultraconservative suits to work each day; I declined any fashion 
  input。 I paced the living room as much as I could manage when each 
  length only took four strides; and sat down on the futon in front of 
  the TV。 Just what does one wear to the first day working for the 
  most fashionable fashion editor of the most fashionable fashion 
  magazine in existence? I’d heard of Prada (from the few Jappy girls 
  who carried the backpacks at Brown) and Louis Vuitton (because both 
  of my grandmothers sported the signature…print bags without 
  realizing how cool they were) and maybe even Gucci (because who 
  hasn’t heard of Gucci?)。 But I sure didn’t own a single stitch of 
  it; and I wouldn’t have known what to do with it if the entire 
  contents of all three stores resided in my miniature closet。 I 
  walked back to my room—or; rather; the wall…to…wall mattress that I 
  called a room—and collapsed on that big; beautiful bed; banging my 
  ankle on the bulky frame。 Shit。 What now?

  After much agonizing and clothes…flinging; I finally decided on a 
  light blue sweater and a knee…length black skirt; with my knee…high 
  black boots。 I already knew that a briefcase wouldn’t fly there; so 
  I was left with no choice but to use my black canvas purse。 The last 
  thing I remember about that night was trying to navigate around my 
  massive bed in high…heeled boots; a skirt; and no shirt; and sitting 
  down to rest from the exhaustion of the effort。

  I must have passed out from sheer anxiety; because it was adrenaline 
  alone that awakened me at 5:30A 。M。 I bolted from the bed。 My nerves 
  had been in perpetual overdrive all week; and my head felt like it 
  would explode。 I had exactly an hour and a half to shower; dress; 
  and make my way from my fraternity…like building at 96th and Third 
  to midtown via public transportation; a still sinister and 
  intimidating concept。 That meant I had to allot an hour for travel 
  time and a half hour to make myself beautiful。

  The shower was horrific。 It made a high…pitched squealing noise like 
  one of those dog…training whistles; remaining steadfastly lukewarm 
  until just before I stepped out into the freezing…cold bathroom; at 
  which point the water turned scalding。 It took a mere three days 
  ofthat routine before I began sprinting from my bed; turning on the 
  shower fifteen minutes early; and heading back under the covers。 
  When I snoozed three more times with the alarm clock and went back 
  for round two in the bathroom; the mirrors would be all steamed up 
  from the gloriously hot—although trickling—water。

  I got myself into my binding and unfortable outfit and out the 
  door in twenty…five minutes—a record。 And it took only ten minutes 
  to find the nearest subway; something I should’ve done the night 
  before but was too busy scoffing at my mother’s suggestion to take a 
  “run…through” so I wouldn’t get lost。 When I’d gone for the 
  interview the week before I’d taken a cab; and I was already 
  convinced that this subway experiment was going to be a nightmare。 
  But; remarkably; there was an English…speaking attendant in the 
  booth who instructed me to take the 6 train to 59th Street。 She said 
  I’d exit right on 59th and would have to walk two blocks west to 
  Madison。 Easy。 I rode the cold train in silence; one of the only 
  people crazy enough to be awake and actually moving at such a 
  miserable hour in the middle of November。 So far; so good—no 
  glitches until it was time to make my way up to street level。

  I took the nearest stairs and stepped out into a frigid day where 
  the only light I saw was emanating from twenty…four…hour bodegas。 
  Behind me was Bloomingdale’s; but nothing else looked familiar。 
  Elias…Clark; Elias…Clark; Elias…Clark。 Where was that building? I 
  turned in my place 180 degrees until I saw a street sign: 60th 
  Street and Lexington。 Well; 59th can’t be that far away from 60th; 
  but which way should I walk to make the streets go west? And where 
  was Madison in parison to Lexington? Nothing looked familiar from 
  my visit to the building the week before; since I’d been dropped off 
  right in front。 I strolled for a bit; happy to have left enough time 
  to get as lost as I was; and finally ducked into a deli for a cup of 
  Coffee。

  “Hello; sir。 I can’t seem to find my way to the Elias…Clark 
  building。 Could you please point me in the right direction?” I asked 
  the nervous…looking man behind the cash register。 I tried not to 
  smile sweetly; remembering what everyone had told me about not being 
  in Avon anymore; and how people here don’t exactly respond well to 
  good manners。 He scowled at me; and I got nervous it was because he 
  thought me rude。 I smiled sweetly。

  “One dollah;” he said; holding out his hand。

  “You’re charging me for directions?”

  “One dollah; skeem or bleck; you peek。”

  I stared at him for a moment before I realized he knew only enough 
  English to converse about Coffee。 “Oh; skim would be perfect。 Thank 
  you so much。” I handed over a dollar and headed back outside; more 
  lost than ever。 I asked people who worked at newsstands; as street 
  sweepers; even a man who was tucked inside one of those movable 
  breakfast carts。 Not a single one understood me well enough to so 
  much as point in the direction of 59th and Madison; and I had brief 
  flashbacks to Delhi; Depression; dysentery。No! I will find it。

  A few more minutes of wandering aimlessly around a waking midtown 
  actually landed me at the front door of the Elias…Clark building。 
  The lobby glowed behind the glass doors in the early…morning 
  darkness; and it looked; for those first few moments; like a warm; 
  weling place。 But when I pushed the revolving door to enter; it 
  fought me。 Harder and harder I pushed; until my body weight was 
  thrust forward and my face was nearly pressed against the glass; and 
  only then did it budge。 When it did begin to move; it slid slowly at 
  first; prompting me to push ever harder。 But as so
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