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“I just want to make sure you give it a fair shake；” he said；
switching his tiles around on his holder。 “The more I think about
it； the more I’m convinced this is going to mean big things for
you。”
“Well； I sure hope you’re right； because I have enough paper cuts
from wrapping to last a long； long time。 There better be more to the
whole thing than that。”
“There will be； sweetie； there will be。 You’ll see。 It might feel
like you’re doing silly stuff； but trust me； you’re not。 This is the
start of something fantastic； I can feel it。 And I’ve studied up on
your boss。 This Miranda sounds like a tough woman； no doubt about
it； but I think you’re going to like her。 And I think she’s going to
like you； too。”
He placed the word TOWEL down using my E and looked satisfied。
“I hope you’re right； Dad。 I really hope you’re right。”
“She’s the editor in chief ofRunway —you know； the fashion
magazine？” I whispered urgently into the phone； trying valiantly not
to get frustrated。
“Oh； I know which one you mean！” said Julia； a publicity assistant
for Scholastic Books。 “Great magazine。 I love all those letters
where girls write in their embarrassing period stories。 Are those
for real？ Do you remember reading the one where—”
“No； no； not the one for teenagers。 It’s most definitely for grown
women。” In theory； at least。 “Have you really never seenRunway ？”Is
it humanly possible that she hasn’t？ I wondered。 “Anyway； it’s
spelled P…R…I…E…S…T…L…Y。 Miranda； yes；” I said with infinite
patience。 I wondered how she’d react if she knew I actually had
someone on the line who’d never heard of her。 Probably not well。
“Well； if you could get back to me as soon as possible； I’dreally
appreciate it；” I told Julia。 “And if a senior publicist gets in
anytime soon；please have her call me。”
It was a Friday morning in the middle of December and the sweet；
sweet freedom of the weekend was only ten hours away。 I had been
trying to convince a fashion…oblivious Julia at Scholastic that
Miranda Priestly really was someone important； someone worth bending
rules and suspending logic for。 This proved significantly more
difficult than I had anticipated。 How could I have known that I’d
have to explain the weight of Miranda’s position to influence
someone who’d never even heard of the most prestigious fashion
magazine on earth—or its famous editor？ In my four short weeks as
Miranda’s assistant； I’d already figured out that such
weight…throwing and favor…currying was merely part of my job； but
usually the person I was attempting to persuade； intimidate； or
otherwise pressure yielded pletely at the mere mention of my
infamous boss’s name。
Unfortunately for me； Julia worked for an educational publishing
house where someone like Nora Ephron or Wendy Wasserstein was much
likelier to get VIP treatment than someone known for her impeccable
taste in fur。 I inherently understood this。 I tried to remember all
the way back to a time before I had ever heard of Miranda
Priestly—five weeks earlier—and couldn’t。 But I knew that such a
magical time had existed。 I envied Julia’s indifference； but I had a
job to do； and she wasn’t helping。
The fourth book in that wretched Harry Potter series was due to be
released the next day； a Saturday； and Miranda’s ten…year…old twin
daughters each wanted one。 The first copies wouldn’t arrive in
stores until Monday； but I had to have them in my hands on Saturday
morning—mere minutes after they were released from the warehouse。
After all； Harry and the crew had to catch a private flight to
Paris。
My thoughts were interrupted by the phone。 I picked it up as I
always did now that Emily trusted me enough to speak to Miranda。 And
boy； did we speak—probably in the vicinity of two dozen times a day。
Even from afar； Miranda had managed to creep into my life and
pletely take over； barking orders and requests and demands at a
rapid…fire pace from sevenA 。M。 until I was finally allowed to leave
at nineP 。M。
“Ahn…dre…ah？ Hello？ Is anyone there？ Ahn…dre…ah！” I jumped out of my
seat the moment I heard her pronounce my name。 It took a moment to
remember and accept that she was not； in fact； in the office—or even
in the country； and for the time being； at least； I was safe。 Emily
had assured me that Miranda was pletely unaware that Allison had
been promoted or I had been hired； that these were insignificant
details lost on her。 As long as someone answered the phone and got
her what she needed； that person’s actual identity was irrelevent。
“I simply do not understand what takes you so long to speak after
you pick up the phone；” she stated。 From any other person on earth
that would have sounded whiny； but from Miranda it sounded
appropriately cold and firm。 Just like her。 “In case you haven’t
been here long enough to notice； when I call； you respond。 It’s
actually simple。 See？ I call。 You respond。 Do you think you can
handle that； Ahn…dre…ah？”
I nodded like a six…year…old who’d just been reprimanded for
throwing spaghetti on the ceiling； even though she couldn’t see me。
I concentrated on not calling her “ma’am；” a mistake I’d made a week
earlier that had almost gotten me fired。 “Yes； Miranda。 I’m sorry；”
I said softly； head bowed。 And for that moment Iwas sorry； sorry
that her words hadn’t registered in my brain three…tenths of a
second faster than they had； sorry that my tardiness in saying
“Miranda Priestly’s office” had taken a fraction of a second longer
than absolutely necessary。 Her time was； as I was constantly
reminded； much more important than my own。
“All right then。 Now； after wasting all that time； may we begin？ Did
you confirm Mr。 Tomlinson’s reservation？” she asked。
“Yes； Miranda； I made a reservation for Mr。 Tomlinson at the Four
Seasons at one o’clock。”
I could see it ing a mile away。 A mere ten minutes earlier she’d
called and ordered me to make a reservation at the Four Seasons and
call Mr。 Tomlinson and her driver and the nanny to inform them of
the plans； and now she’d want to rearrange them。
“Well； I’ve changed my mind。 The Four Seasons is not the appropriate
venue for his lunch with Irv。 Reserve a table for two at Le Cirque；
and remember to remind the maî；tre d’ that they will want to sit in
theback of the restaurant。 Not on display in the front。The back 。
That’s all。”
I had convinced myself when I first spoke with Miranda on the phone；
that by uttering “that’s all；” she really intended those words to
mean “thank you。” By the second week I’d rethought that。
“Of course； Miranda。Thank you； �