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时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第71部分


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  saying to know that she was barely responding at the appropriate 
  time。 Social graces were not her strength; as she had little 
  tolerance for small talk—but I knew she’d be on her best kiss…ass 
  behavior tonight。 I’d e to realize that her “friends” all fell 
  into one of two categories。 There were those she perceived as 
  “above” her and who must be impressed。 This list was short; but it 
  generally included people like Irv Ravitz; Oscar de la Renta; 
  Hillary Clinton; and any first…rate; A…list movie star。 Then there 
  were those “below” her; who must be patronized and belittled so they 
  don’t forget their place; which included basically everyone else: 
  allRunway employees; all family members; all parents of her 
  children’s friends—unless they coincidentally fell into category 
  number one—almost all designers and other magazine editors; and 
  every single solitary person in the service industry; both here and 
  abroad。 Tonight was sure to be amusing because these were category 
  two people who would have to be treated like category ones; merely 
  because of their association with Mr。 Tomlinson and his brother。 I 
  always enjoyed the rare occasions when I got to watch Miranda try to 
  impress those around her; mostly because she wasn’t naturally 
  charming。

  I felt the first guests arrive before I saw them。 The tension in the 
  room was palpable。 Remembering my color printouts; I rushed over to 
  the couple and offered to take the woman’s fur wrap。 “Mr。 and Mrs。 
  Wilkinson; thank you so much for joining us this evening。 Please; 
  I’ll take that。 And Ilana here will show you to the atrium; where 
  cocktails are being served。” I hoped I wasn’t staring during my 
  monologue; but the spectacle was truly outrageous。 I’d seen women 
  dressed like hookers and men dressed like women and models not 
  dressed at all at Miranda’s parties; but never before had I seen 
  people dressed like this。 I knew it wasn’t going to be a trendy New 
  York crowd; but I was expecting them to look like something out 
  ofDallas ; instead; they looked like a dressier version of the cast 
  fromDeliverance 。

  Mr。 Tomlinson’s brother; himself distinguished looking with silver 
  hair; made the horrible mistake of wearing white tails—in May; no 
  less—with a plaid handkerchief and a cane。 His fiancée had on an 
  emerald green taffeta nightmare。 It swirled and puffed and gathered 
  and forced her enormous bust up and over the top of the dress so 
  that it appeared her own silicon breasts might actually suffocate 
  her。 Diamonds the size of Dixie cups hung from her ears; and an even 
  larger one sparkled from her left hand。 Her hair was bleached white 
  with peroxide; as were her teeth; and her heels were so high and so 
  skinny; she walked as if she’d been a running back in the NFL for 
  the past twelve years。

  “Dah…lings; I amso delighted you could join us for a little pah…ty! 
  Everyone loves pahties; now don’t they?” Miranda sang in a falsetto 
  voice。 The soon…to…be Mrs。 Tomlinson looked as if she’d pass out。 
  Right there before her was the one and only Miranda Priestly! Her 
  glee embarrassed us all; and the whole wretched crowd moved into the 
  atrium with Miranda leading the way。

  The rest of the night went on much like the beginning。 I recognized 
  all the guests’ names and managed not to utter anything too 
  humiliating。 The parade of white tuxes; chiffon; big hair; bigger 
  jewels; and barely postadolescent women ceased to amuse me as the 
  hours wore on; but I never grew tired of watching Miranda。 She was 
  the true lady and the envy of every woman in that museum that night。 
  And even though they understood that all the money in the world 
  could never buy them her class and elegance; they never stopped 
  wanting it。

  I smiled genuinely when she dismissed me halfway through dinner; as 
  usual without a thank…you or a good…night。 (“Ahn…dre…ah; we won’t be 
  needing you anymore this evening。 See yourself out。”) I looked for 
  Ilana; but she had already sneaked out。 The car took only about ten 
  minutes to arrive after I called for it—I had briefly considered 
  taking the subway; but wasn’t sure how well the Oscar or my feet 
  would’ve held up—and I sunk; exhausted but calm; into the backseat。

  When I walked past John on my way to the elevator; he reached under 
  his little table and pulled out a manila envelope。 “Just got this a 
  few minutes ago。 It says ‘Urgent。’ ” I thanked him and sat down in a 
  corner of the lobby; wondering who would be messengering me 
  something at ten o’clock on a Friday night。 I tore it open and 
  pulled out a note:

  Dearest Andrea;

  It was so great to meet you tonight! Can we please get together next 
  week for sushi or something? I dropped this off on my way Home— 
  figured you could use the pick…me…up after a night like the one we 
  just had。 Enjoy。

  Xoxo;

  Ilana

  Inside was the picture of Miranda as Snake; only Ilana had enlarged 
  this one to a ten by thirteen size。 I looked at it carefully for a 
  few minutes; massaging the feet I’d finally pulled from the Manolos; 
  and looked into Miranda’s eyes。 She looked intimidating and mean and 
  just like the bitch I stared at every day。 But tonight she’d also 
  looked sad; and not a little lonely。 Adding this picture to my 
  fridge and making fun of it with Lily and Alex wasn’t going to make 
  my feet hurt any less; or give me back my Friday night。 I tore it up 
  and hobbled upstairs。

  15

  “Andrea; it’s Emily;” I heard a voice croak from the phone。 
  “Can you hear me?” It had been months since Emily had called 
  me at Home late at night; so I knew it had to be serious。

  “Hi; sure。 You sound like hell;” I said; bolting upright in 
  bed; immediately wondering if Miranda had done something to 
  make her sound that way。 The last time Emily had called this 
  late was when Miranda had called her at eleven on a Saturday 
  night to demand that Emily charter her and Mr。 Tomlinson a 
  private jet to get Home from Miami since bad weather had 
  canceled their regularly scheduled flight。 Emily was just 
  getting ready to leave her apartment to attend her own 
  birthday party when the call came in; and she’d immediately 
  called me and begged me to deal with it。 I hadn’t gotten the 
  message until the next day; though; and when I called her 
  back; she was still in tears。

  “I missed my own birthday party; Andrea;” she’d wailed the 
  second she picked up the phone。 “I missed my own birthday 
  party because I had to charter them a flight!”

  “They couldn’t get a hotel room for one night and e back 
  the next day like normal people?” I’d asked; pointing out the 
  obvious。

  “Don’t you think I thought of that? I had penthouse suites 
  reserved for them at the Shore Club; the Albion; and the 
  Delano within seven minutes of her first phone call; figuring 
  she couldn’t possibly be serious—I mean; my god; it was a 
  Saturday night。 How the hell do you charter a flight on a 
  Saturday night?”

  “I’m guessing she wasn’t so into that idea?” I’d asked 
  soothingly; feeling genuinely guilty that I hadn’t been around 
  to help her out and simultaneously ecstatic that I’d dodged 
  that particular bullet。

  “Yeah。 Not so into it at all。 She called every ten minutes; 
  demanding to know why I hadn’t found her anything yet; and I 
  had to keep putting these people on hold to answer her call; 
  and when I went back to them; they’d hang up。” She gulped air。 
  “It was a nightmare。”

  “So what finally happened? I’m almost scared to ask。”

  “What finally happened? Whatdidn’t finally happen? I called 
  every single private charter pany in the state of Florida 
  and; as you might imagine; they weren’t answering their phones 
  at midnight on a Saturday。 I paged individual pilots; I called 
  domestic airlines to see if they had any remendations; I 
  even managed to talk to some sort of supervisor at the Miami 
  International Airport。 Told him I needed a plane in the next 
  half hour to fly two people to New York。 Know what he did?”

  “What?”

  “He laughed。 Hysterically。 Accused me of being a front for 
  terrorists; for drug smugglers; everything。 Told me I had a 
  better chance of getting hit by lightning exactly twenty times 
  than I did of securing a plane and a pilot at that 
  hour—regardless of how much I was willing to pay。 And that if 
  I called back again; he’d be forced to direct my inquiry to 
  the FBI。 Do you believe it?” She was screaming at this point。 
  “Do you fucking believe it? The FBI!”

  “And I assume Miranda didn’t like that; either?”

  “Yeah; sheloooooved that one。 She spent twenty minute

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