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第41部分

时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第41部分


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  and the slush and the rain to get her Coffee five; six; seven times 
  in a single day。 I was so tired I could barely move—I know what it’s 
  like! Sometimes she’d call me to ask where something was—her latte; 
  her lunch; some special; sensitive…teeth toothpaste I’d been sent to 
  find—it was forting to discover that at least her teeth had a bit 
  of sensitivity—and I hadn’t even left the building yet。 Hadn’t even 
  gotten outside! That’s just her; Andy。 That’s just how it is。 You 
  can’t fight it anymore; or you’ll never survive。 She doesn’t mean 
  any harm by it; she really doesn’t。 That’s just the way she is。”

  I nodded and I understood; but I just couldn’t accept that。 I hadn’t 
  worked anywhere else; but I just couldn’t believe that all bosses 
  everywhere acted like this。 But maybe they did?

  I carried the lunch bag over to my desk and began the preparations 
  for serving her。 One by one; I used my bare hands to pluck the food 
  from its heat…sealed to…go containers and arrange it (stylishly; I 
  hoped) on one of the china plates from the overhead bin。 Slowing 
  only to wipe my now greasy hands on a pair of her dirty Versace 
  pants I hadn’t yet sent to the cleaners; I placed the plate on the 
  teak and tile serving tray that resided under my desk。 Next to it 
  went the gravy boat full of butter; the salt; and the silverware 
  wrapped in a linen…pleated skirt…no…longer。 A quick survey of my 
  artistry revealed a missing Pellegrino。 Better hurry—she’d be back 
  any minute! I dashed to one of the minikitchens and palmed a fistful 
  of ice cubes; blowing on them to keep them from freezer…burning my 
  hands。 Blowing was only one itsy; bitsy; teensy step from licking 
  them—do I do it? No! Be above it; rise above it。 Do not spit in her 
  food or gum her ice cubes。 You’re a bigger person than that!

  Her office was still empty by the time I made it back; and the only 
  thing left to do was pour the bottled water and place the whole 
  orchestrated tray on her desk。 She’d e back and perch at her 
  mammoth desk and call out for someone to close her doors。 And this 
  would be one time I’d jump up happily; enthusiastically; because it 
  meant not only that she’d sit quietly behind those closed doors for 
  a good half hour; on the phone with B…DAD; but also that it was time 
  for us to eat as well。 One of us could race down to the dining room 
  and grab the very first thing she saw and race back so the other 
  could go。 We would try to hide our food under our desks and behind 
  our puter screens just in case she came out unexpectedly。 If 
  there was a single unspoken but still irrefutable rule; it was that 
  members of theRunway staff do not eat in front of Miranda Priestly。 
  Period。

  My watch said it was quarter after two。 My stomach said it was late 
  evening。 It had been seven hours since I’d shoved a chocolate scone 
  down my throat on the walk back to the office from Starbucks; and I 
  was so hungry I considered gnawing on her ribeye。

  “Em; I might pass out; I’m so hungry。 I think I’m going to run down 
  and pick something up。 Can I get you something?”

  “Are you crazy? You haven’t served her lunch yet。 She’ll be back any 
  minute。”

  “I’m serious。 I really don’t feel well。 I don’t think I can wait。” 
  The sleep deprivation and the low blood sugar were bining to make 
  me dizzy。 I wasn’t sure I’d be able to carry the steak tray into her 
  office even if she did e back sometime soon。

  “Andrea; be rational! What if you run into her in the elevator or in 
  reception? She’d know that you left the office。 She’d freak! It’s 
  not worth the risk。 Hold on a sec—I’ll get you something。” She 
  grabbed her change purse and headed out of the office。 Not four 
  seconds later; I saw Miranda making her way down the hall toward me。 
  Any thoughts of dizziness or hunger or exhaustion disappeared the 
  moment I spotted her tight; frowning face; and I flew out of my seat 
  to put the tray on her desk before she reached it herself。

  I landed in my seat; head spinning; mouth dry; and totally 
  disoriented; just before her first Jimmy Choo crossed the threshold。 
  She didn’t so much as glance in my direction or; thankfully; seem to 
  notice that the real Emily wasn’t at her desk。 I had a feeling that 
  the meeting she’d just had with Mr。 Ravitz hadn’t gone so well; 
  although it could have just been her lingering resentment at having 
  to leave her office to go see someone else in theirs。 Mr。 Ravitz 
  was; so far; the only person in the entire building whom Miranda 
  rushed to acmodate。

  “Ahn…dre…ah! What is this? Please tell me; what on earth is this?”

  I raced into her office and stood before her desk; where we both 
  looked down at what was; quite obviously; the same lunch she ate 
  whenever she didn’t go out。 A quick mental checklist revealed that 
  nothing was missing or out of place or on the wrong side or cooked 
  incorrectly。 What was her problem?

  “Um; it’s; uh; well; it’s your lunch;” I said quietly; making a 
  genuine effort not to sound sarcastic; which was difficult; 
  considering my statement was supremely obvious。 “Is something 
  wrong?”

  In all fairness; I think she just parted her lips; but to my 
  near…delirious self; it looked like she was baring actual pointed 
  fangs。

  “Is something wrong?” she mimicked in a high…pitched voice that 
  sounded nothing like my own; nothing human。 She narrowed her eyes to 
  slits and leaned closer; still refusing; as always; to raise her 
  voice。 “Yes; there’s something wrong。 Something very; very wrong。 
  Why do I have to e back to my office to findthis sitting on my 
  desk?”

  It was like trying to solve one of those twisted riddles。 Why did 
  she have to e back to her desk to find this sitting on it; I 
  wondered。 Clearly; the fact that she had requested it an hour 
  earlier was not the correct answer; but it was the only one I had。 
  Did she not like the tray it was on? No; that wasn’t possible: she’d 
  seen it a million times and hadn’t ever plained about it。 Had 
  they accidentally given her the wrong cut of meat? No; that wasn’t 
  it; either。 The restaurant had once mistakenly sent me off with a 
  wonderful…looking filet; thinking that she was sure to enjoy it more 
  than the tough ribeye; but she’d almost had a full…fledged heart 
  attack。 She’d made me call the chef personally and scream at him 
  over the phone while she stood over me and told me what to say。

  “I’m so sorry; miss; really I am;” he’d said softly; sounding like 
  the nicest guy in the world。 “I really just thought that since Ms。 
  Priestly is such a good customer that she’d prefer to have our best。 
  I didn’t charge her extra; but don’t worry; it won’t happen again; I 
  promise。” I felt like crying when she ordered me to tell him that he 
  would never be a real chef anywhere besides some second…rate steak 
  emporium; but I had done it。 And he had apologized and agreed; and 
  from that day on she’d always gotten her bloody ribeye。 So it wasn’t 
  that; either。 I had no idea what to say or do。

  “Ahn…dre…ah。 Did Mr。 Ravitz’s assistant not tell you that we had 
  lunch together in that wretched dining room just a few moments ago?” 
  she asked slowly; as though she were trying to keep herself from 
  losing control pletely。

  Shewhat? After all of that; after all the running and the Sebastian 
  ridiculousness; and the angry phone calls; and the 
  ninety…five…dollar meal; and the Tiffany song; and the food 
  arranging; and the dizziness; and the waiting to eat until she came 
  back; andshe’d already eaten?

  “Uh; no; we didn’t get a call from her at all。 So; uh; does that 
  mean you don’t want this?” I asked; motioning to the tray。

  She looked at me as if I had just suggested she eat one of the 
  twins。 “What do you think that means; Emily?” Shit! She’d been doing 
  so well with my name。

  “I guess that; uh; well; that you don’t want it。”

  “That’s very perceptive of you; Emily。 I’m lucky you’re such a quick 
  study。 Now remove it。 And make sure this does not happen again。 
  That’s all。”

  A quick fantasy flashed forward; one in which I would; just like in 
  the movies; sweep my arm across the desk and send the whole tray 
  flying across the room。 She would watch and; shocked into 
  contriteness; apologize profusely for speaking to me like that。 But 
  the clicking of her nails against the desk brought me back to 
  reality; and I quickly picked up the tray and carefully walked out 
  of her office。

  “Ahn…dre…ah; close the door! I need a moment!” she called。 I guess 
  that having a gourmet lunch appear on her desk that she didn’t feel 
  like eating had been a r

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