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第102章

时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第102章


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  city paid our full asking price—six hundred dollars more per 
  month than we ourselves paid。 The three hundred bucks a month 
  was more than enough for each of us to live on; especially 
  considering my parents ped us food; laundry; and the use of 
  a beat…up Camry。 The Swedes were leaving the week after New 
  Year’s; just in time for Lily to start her semester over again 
  and for me to; well; do something。

  Emily had been the one who officially fired me。 Not that I’d 
  had any lingering doubts as to my employment status after my 
  little foul…mouthed temper tantrum; but I suppose Miranda had 
  been livid enough to drive Home one last dig。 The whole thing 
  had taken only three or four minutes and had unfolded with the 
  ruthlessRunway efficiency that I loved so much。

  I’d just managed to hail a cab and pry the left boot from my 
  pulsating foot when the phone rang。 Of course my heart 
  instinctively lurched forward; but when I remembered that I’d 
  just told Miranda what she could do with herYou remind me of 
  myself when I was your age; I realized it couldn’t be her。 I 
  did a quick tabulation of the minutes that had passed: one for 
  Miranda to shut her gaping mouth and recover her cool for all 
  the Clackers who were watching; another for her to locate her 
  Cell Phone and call Emily at Home; a third to convey the 
  sordid details of my unprecedented outburst; and a final one 
  for Emily to reassure Miranda that she herself would “see to 
  it that everything was taken care of。” Yes; although the 
  caller ID simply said “unavailable” on international phone 
  calls; there wasn’t a doubt in the world who was ringing。

  “Hi; Em; how are you?” I practically sang while rubbing my 
  bare foot and trying not to let it touch the filthy taxi 
  floor。

  She seemed to be caught off…guard by my downright chipper 
  tone。 “Andrea?”

  “Hey; it’s me; I’m right here。 What’s up? I’m kind of in a 
  hurry; so 。 。 。” I thought about asking her directly if she’d 
  called to fire me but decided to give her a break for once。 I 
  braced myself for the verbal tirade she was sure to let loose 
  on me—how could you let her down; me down;Runway down; the 
  wide world of fashion; blah; blah; blah—but it never came。

  “Oh yeah; of course。 So; I just spoke to Miranda 。 。 。” Her 
  voice trailed off as though she was hoping I’d continue and 
  explain that the whole thing had been a big mistake and not to 
  worry because I’d managed to fix it in the last four minutes。

  “And you heard what happened; I’m assuming?”

  “Um; yeah! Andy; what’s going on?”

  “I should probably be asking you that; right?”

  There was silence。

  “Listen; Em; I have a feeling that you called to fire me。 It’s 
  OK if you did; I know it’s not your decision。 So; did she tell 
  you to call and get rid of me?” Even though I felt lighter 
  than I had in many months; I still found myself holding my 
  breath; wondering if maybe; through some dumb stroke of luck 
  or misfortune; Miranda had respected my telling her to fuck 
  off instead of been appalled by it。

  “Yes。 She asked me to let you know that you have been 
  terminated; effective immediately; and she would like you to 
  be checked out of the Ritz before she returns from the show。” 
  She said this softly and with a trace of regret。 Perhaps it 
  was for the many hours and days and weeks she was now facing 
  of finding and training someone all over again; but there 
  sounded like there might be something even more behind it。

  “You’re going to miss me; aren’t you; Em? Go on; say it。 It’s 
  OK; I won’t tell anyone。 As far as I’m concerned; this 
  conversation never happened。 You don’t want me to go; do you?”

  Miracle of miracles; she laughed。 “What did you say to her? 
  She just kept repeating that you were crass and unlady…like。 I 
  couldn’t get anything more specific out of her than that。”

  “Oh; that’s probably because I told her to fuck herself。”

  “You did not!”

  “You’re calling to fire me。 I assure you; I did。”

  “Oh my god。”

  “Yeah; well; I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t the single most 
  satisfying moment of my pathetic life。 Of course; I have now 
  been fired by the most powerful woman in publishing。 Not only 
  do I not have a way to pay off my nearly maxed…out MasterCard; 
  but future jobs in magazines are looking rather dismal。 Maybe 
  I should try to work for one of her enemies? They’d be happy 
  to hire me; right?”

  “Sure。 Send your résumé over to Anna Wintour—they’ve never 
  liked each other very much。”

  “Hmm。 Something to think about。 Listen; Em; no hard feelings; 
  OK?” We both knew that we had absolutely; positively not a 
  single thing in mon but Miranda Priestly; but as long as we 
  were getting on so famously; I figured I’d play along。

  “Sure; of course;” she lied awkwardly; knowing full well that 
  I was about to enter into the upper stratosphere of social 
  pariah…dom。 The chances of Emily admitting she had so much as 
  known me from this day forward were nonexistent; but that was 
  OK。 Maybe in ten years when she was sitting front and center 
  at the Michael Kors show and I was still shopping at Filene’s 
  and dining at Benihana; we’d laugh about the whole thing。 But 
  probably not。

  “Well; I’d love to chat; but I’m kind of screwed up right now; 
  not sure what to do next。 I’ve got to figure out a way to get 
  Home as soon as possible。 Do you think I can still use my 
  return ticket? She can’t fire me and leave me stranded in a 
  foreign country; can she?”

  “Well of course she would be justified in doing so; Andrea;” 
  she said。 Ah…hah! One last zinger。 It was forting to know 
  that things never really changed。 “After all; it’s really you 
  who are deserting your job—you forced her to fire you。 But no; 
  I don’t think she’s a vengeful kind of person。 Just charge the 
  change fee and I’ll figure out a way to put it through。”

  “Thanks; Em。 I appreciate it。 And good luck to you; too。 
  You’re going to make a fantastic fashion editor someday。”

  “Really? You think so?” she asked eagerly; happily。 Why my 
  opinion as the biggest fashion loser ever to hit the scene was 
  at all relevant; I didn’t know; but she sounded very; very 
  pleased。

  “Definitely。 Not a doubt in my mind。”

  Christian called the moment I hung up with Emily。 He had; 
  unsurprisingly; already heard what happened。 Unbelievable。 But 
  the pleasure he took from hearing the sordid details; bined 
  with all sorts of promises and invitations he offered up; made 
  me feel sick again。 I told him as calmly as possible that I 
  had a lot to deal with right now; to please stop calling in 
  the meantime; that I’d get in touch if and when I felt like 
  it。

  Since they miraculously didn’t yet know that I’d flunked out 
  of my job; Monsieur Renaud and entourage fell all over 
  themselves on hearing that an emergency at Home demanded I 
  return immediately。 It took only a half hour for a small army 
  of hotel staff to book me on the next flight to New York; pack 
  my bags; and tuck me into the backseat of a limo stocked with 
  a full bar bound for Charles de Gaulle。 The driver was chatty; 
  but I didn’t really respond: I wanted to enjoy my last moments 
  as the lowest…paid but most highly perked assistant in the 
  free world。 I poured myself one final flute of perfectly dry 
  champagne and took a long; slow; luxurious sip。 It had taken 
  eleven months; forty…four weeks; and some 3;080 hours of work 
  to figure out—once and for all—that morphing into Miranda 
  Priestly’s mirror image was probably not such a good thing。

  Instead of a uniformed driver with a sign waiting for me when 
  I exited customs; 

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