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时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第22部分


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  behind to be watched over by their whacked…out friends at the 
  mune in New Mexico (or as Lily preferred; the “collective”)。 When 
  they hadn’t returned almost a year later; Lily’s grandmother took 
  her from the mune (or as Lily’s grandmother preferred; the 
  “cult”) to live with her in Avon。 The day I found her crying alone 
  in the cafeteria was the day her grandmother had forced her to chop 
  off her dirty dreadlocks and wear a dress; and Lily was not happy 
  about it。 Something about the way she talked; the way she said; 
  “That’s so Zen of you;” and “Let’s just depress;” charmed me; and 
  we immediately became friends。 We’d been inseparable through the 
  rest of high school; had roomed together for all four years at 
  Brown。 Lily hadn’t yet decided whether she preferred MAC lipstick or 
  hemp necklaces and was still a little too “quirky” to do anything 
  totally mainstream; but we plemented each other well。 And I 
  missed her。 Because with her first year as a graduate student and my 
  being a virtual slave; we hadn’t seen a whole lot of each other 
  lately。

  I couldn’t wait for the weekend。 My fourteen…hour workdays were 
  registering in my feet; my upper arms; my lower back。 Glasses had 
  replaced the contacts I’d worn for a decade because my eyes were too 
  dry and tired to accept them anymore。 I smoked a pack a day and 
  subsisted solely on Starbucks (expensed; of course) and takeout 
  sushi (further expensed)。 I’d begun losing weight already。 The 
  weight I’d lost from the dysentery had returned briefly; but after 
  my stint atRunway it had begun to disappear again。 Something in the 
  air there; I suppose; or perhaps it was the intensity with which 
  food was eschewed in the office。 I’d already weathered a sinus 
  infection and had paled significantly; and it had been only four 
  weeks。 I was only twenty…three years old。 And Miranda hadn’t even 
  been in the office yet。 Fuck it。 I deserved aweekend 。

  Into this mix leaped Harry Potter; and I wasnot pleased。 Miranda had 
  called this morning。 It took only a few moments for her to outline 
  what she wanted; although it took me forever to interpret it。 I 
  learned quickly that in the Miranda Priestly world; it was better to 
  do something wrong and spend a great deal of time and money to fix 
  it than to admit you didn’t understand her convoluted and heavily 
  accented instructions and ask for clarification。 So when she mumbled 
  something about getting the Harry Potter books for the twins and 
  having them flown to Paris; intuition alone told me this was going 
  to interfere with my weekend。 When she hung up abruptly a few 
  minutes later; I looked to Emily with panic。

  “What; oh; what; did she say?” I moaned; hating myself for being too 
  scared to ask Miranda to repeat herself。 “Why can I not understand a 
  single word that woman utters? It’s not me; Em。 I speak English; 
  always have。 I know she does it to personally drive me crazy。”

  Emily looked at me with her usual mix of disgust and pity。 “Since 
  the book es out tomorrow and they’re not here to buy it; she 
  wants you to pick up two copies and bring them to Teterboro。 The jet 
  will take them to Paris;” she summed up coldly; daring me to ment 
  on the ludicrousness of the instructions。 I was reminded once again 
  that Emily would do anything—really; anything—if it meant making 
  Miranda a bit more fortable。 I rolled my eyes and kept quiet。

  Since I was NOT going to sacrifice a nanosecond of weekend to do her 
  bidding; and because I had an unlimited amount of money and power 
  (hers) at my personal disposal; I spent the rest of the day 
  arranging for Harry Potter to jet his way to Paris。 First; a few 
  words for Julia at Scholastic。

  Dearest Julia;

  My assistant; Andrea; tells me that you’re the sweetheart to whom I 
  should address my most heartfelt appreciation。 She has informed me 
  that you are the single person capable of locating a couple copies 
  of this darling book for me tomorrow。 I want you to know how much I 
  appreciate your hard work and cleverness。 Please know how happy 
  you’ll make my sweet daughters。 And don’t ever hesitate to let me 
  know if you need anything; anything at all; for a fabulous girl like 
  yourself。

  XOXO;

  Miranda Priestly

  I forged her name with a perfect flourish (hour upon hour of 
  practicing with Emily standing over me; instructing me to make the 
  final “a” a little loopier; had finally paid off); attached the note 
  to the latest issue ofRunway —one not yet on the newsstand—and 
  called for a rush messenger to deliver the entire package to 
  Scholastic’s downtown office。 If this didn’t work; nothing would。 
  Miranda didn’t care that we forged her signature—it saved her from 
  bothering with details—but she’d probably be livid to see that I’d 
  penned something so polite; soadorable; using her name。

  Three short weeks earlier I would have quickly canceled my plans if 
  Miranda called and wanted me to do something for her on the 
  weekends; but I was now experienced—and jaded—enough to bend the 
  rules a little。 Since Miranda and the girls would not themselves be 
  at the airport in New Jersey whenHarry arrived the following day; I 
  saw no reason why I had to be the one to deliver him。 Acting under 
  the assumption and prayer that Julia would pull through for me with 
  a couple copies; I worked out some details。 Dial; dial; and within 
  an hour a plan had emerged。

  Brian; a cooperative editorial assistant at Scholastic—whom I was 
  assured would have permission from Julia within a couple hours—would 
  take Home two office copies ofHarry that evening; so he wouldn’t 
  have to go back to the office on Saturday。 Brian would leave the 
  books with the doorman of his Upper West Side apartment building; 
  and I would have a car pick them up the following morning at eleven。 
  Miranda’s driver; Uri; would then call me on my Cell Phone to 
  confirm that he’d received the package and was on his way to drop it 
  at Teterboro airport; where the two books would be transferred to 
  Mr。 Tomlinson’s private jet and flown to Paris。 I briefly considered 
  conducting the entire operation in code to make it resemble a KGB 
  operation even more; but dropped that when I remembered that Uri 
  didn’t really speak regular English that well。 I had checked to see 
  how fast the fastest DHL option would have them there; but delivery 
  couldn’t be guaranteed until Monday; which was obviously 
  unacceptable。 Hence the private plane。 If all went as planned; 
  little Cassidy and Caroline could wake up in their private Parisian 
  suite on Sunday and enjoy their morning milk while reading about 
  Harry’s adventures—a full day earlier than all of their friends。 It 
  warmed my heart; it really did。

  Minutes after the cars had been reserved and all the appropriate 
  people put on alert; Julia called back。 Although it’d be a grueling 
  task and she was likely to get in trouble; she’d be happy to give 
  Brian two copies for Ms。 Priestly。 Amen。

  “Do you believe he gotengaged ?” Lily asked as she rewound the copy 
  ofFerris Bueller we’d just finished。 “I mean; we’re twenty…three 
  years old for goodness sake—what’s the rush?”

  “I know; it does seem weird。” I called from the kitchen。 “Maybe Mom 
  and Dad won’t let him have access to the massive trust fund until 
  he’s settled down? That’d be enough motivation to put a ring on her 
  finger。 Or maybe he’s just lonely?”

  Lily looked at me and laughed。 “Naturally; he can’t just be in love 
  with her and ready to spend the rest of his life with her; right? I 
  mean; we’ve established that that’s totally out of the question; 
  right?”

  “Correct。 That’s not an option。 Try again。”

  “Well; then; I’m forced to pick curtain number three。 He’s gay。 He 
  finally came to the realization himself—even though I’ve known 
  forever—and realizes that Mom and Dad won’t be able to handle it; so 
  he’ll cover by marrying the first girl he can find。 What do you 
  think?”

  Casablancawas next on the list; and Lily fast…forwarded past the 
  opening credits while I microwaved cups of hot chocolate in the tiny 
  kitchen of her nonalcove studio in Morningside Heights。 We lazed 
  around straight through Friday night—breaking only to smoke and make 
  another Blockbuster run。 Saturday afternoon found us particularly 
  motivated; and we managed to saunter down to SoHo for a few hours。 
  We each bought new tank tops for Lily’s uping New Year’s party 
  and shared an oversize mug of eggnog from a sidewalk café。 By the 
  time we made it back to her apartment on Saturday; we were exhausted 
  and happy and spent the rest of the night alter

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