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第19章

时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第19章


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  panini stand that actually resembled a makeup counter; was the 
  single; lone soup station。 Lone because the soup chef was the only 
  one in the entire dining room who refused to make a single one of 
  his offerings low fat; reduced fat; fat…free; low sodium; or low 
  carb。 He simply refused。 As a result; his was the single table in 
  the entire room without a line; and I sprinted directly toward him 
  every day。 Since it appeared that I was the only one in the entire 
  pany who actually bought soup—and I’d only been there a week—the 
  higher…ups had slashed his menu to a solitary soup per day。 I prayed 
  for tomato cheddar。 Instead; he ladled out a giant cup of New 
  England clam chowder; proudly declaring it was made with heavy 
  cream。 Three people at Greens turned to stare。 The only obstacle 
  left was dodging the crowds around the chef’s table; where a 
  visiting chef in full whites was arranging large chunks of sashimi 
  for what appeared to be adoring fans。 I read the nametag on his 
  starched white collar: Nobu Matsuhisa。 I made a mental note to look 
  him up when I got upstairs; since I seemed to be the only employee 
  in the place who wasn’t fawning all over him。 Was it worse to have 
  never heard of Mr。 Matsuhisa or Miranda Priestly?

  The petite cashier looked first at the soup and then at my hips when 
  she rang me up。 Or had she? I’d already grown accustomed to being 
  looked up and down every time I went anywhere; and I could’ve sworn 
  she was looking at me with the same expression I would’ve given a 
  five…hundred…pound person with eight Big Macs arrayed in from of 
  him: the eyes raised just enough as if to ask; “Do youreally need 
  that?” But I brushed my paranoia aside and reminded myself that the 
  woman was simply a cashier in a cafeteria; not a Weight Watchers 
  counselor。 Or a fashion editor。

  “So。 Not many people buying the soup these days;” she said quietly; 
  punching numbers on the register。

  “Yeah; I guess not that many people like New England clam chowder;” 
  I mumbled; swiping my card and willing her hands to move faster; 
  faster。

  She stopped and turned her narrowed brown eyes directly toward mine。 
  “No; I think it’s because the soup chef insists on making these 
  really fattening things—do you have any idea how many calories are 
  in that? Do you have any idea how fattening that little cup of soup 
  is? I’m just saying is; someone could put on ten pounds from just 
  looking at it—”And you’re not one who could afford to gain ten 
  pounds; she implied。

  Ouch。 As if it hadn’t been hard enough convincing myself that I was 
  a normal weight for a normal height as all the tall; willowyRunway 
  blondes had openly examined me; now thecashier was—for all intents 
  and purposes—telling me I was fat? I snatched my takeout bag and 
  pushed past the people; and walked into the bathroom that was 
  conveniently located directly outside the dining room; where one 
  could purge any earlier bingeing problems。 And even though I knew 
  that the mirror would reveal nothing more or less than it had that 
  morning; I turned to face it head on。 A twisted; angry face stared 
  back at me。

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Emily all but shouted at my 
  reflection。 I whipped around in time to see her hanging her leather 
  blazer through the handle of the Gucci logo tote; as she pushed her 
  sunglasses on top of her head。 It occurred to me that Emily had 
  meant what she’d said three and a half hours before quite literally: 
  she’d gone out for lunch。 As in; outside。 As in; left me all alone 
  for three straight hours with no warning; practically tethered to a 
  phone line with no hopes of food or bathroom breaks。 As in; none of 
  that mattered because I still knew I was wrong to leave and I was 
  about to get screamed at for it by someone my own age。 Blessedly; 
  the door swung open and the editor in chief ofCoquette strode in。 
  She looked us both up and down as Emily grabbed my arm and steered 
  me out of the bathroom and toward the elevator。 We stood like that 
  together; her clutching my arm and me feeling as though I’d just wet 
  the bed。 We were living one of those scenes where the kidnapper puts 
  a gun to a woman’s back in broad daylight and quietly threatens her 
  as he leads her to his basement of torture。

  “How could you do this to me?” she hissed as she pushed me 
  throughRunway ’s reception…area doors and we hurtled together back 
  to our desks。 “As the senior assistant; I am responsible for what 
  goes on in our office。 I know you’re new; but I’ve told you from the 
  very first day: we do not leave Miranda unattended。”

  “But Miranda’s not here。” It came out as a squeak。

  “But she could’ve called while you were gone and no one would’ve 
  been here to answer the goddamn phone!” she screamed as she slammed 
  the door to our suite。 “Our first priority—our only priority—is 
  Miranda Priestly。 Period。 And if you can’t deal with that; just 
  remember that there are millions of girls who would die for your 
  job。 Now check your voice mail。 If she called; we’re dead。You’re 
  dead。”

  I wanted to crawl inside my iMac and die。 How could I have screwed 
  up so badly during my very first week? Miranda wasn’t even in the 
  office and I’d already let her down。 So what if I was hungry? It 
  could wait。 There were genuinely important people trying to get 
  things done around here; people who depended on me; and I’d let them 
  down。 I dialed my mailbox。

  “Hi; Andy; it’s me。” Alex。 “Where are you? I’ve never heard you not 
  answer。 Can’t wait for dinner tonight—we’re still on; right? 
  Anywhere you want; your pick。 Call me when you get this; I’ll be in 
  the faculty lounge anytime after four。 Love you。” I immediately felt 
  guilty; because I’d already decided after the whole lunch debacle 
  that I’d rather reschedule。 My first week had been so crazy that 
  we’d barely seen each other; and we’d made a special plan to have 
  dinner that night; just the two of us。 But I knew I wouldn’t be any 
  fun if I fell asleep in my wine; and I kind of wanted a night to 
  unwind and be alone。 I’d have to remember to call and see if we 
  could do it the next night。

  Emily was standing over me; having already checked her own voice 
  mail。 From her relatively calm face; I guessed that Miranda had not 
  left her any death threats。 I shook my head to indicate that I 
  hadn’t gotten one from her yet。

  “Hi; Andrea; it’s Cara。” Miranda’s nanny。 “So; Miranda called here a 
  little while ago”—heart stoppage—“and said she’s tried the office 
  and no one was picking up。 I figured something was going on down 
  there; so I told her that I’d spoken to both you and Emily just a 
  minute before; but don’t worry about it。 She wanted aWomen’s Wear 
  Daily faxed to her; and I had a copy right here。 Already confirmed 
  that she got it; too; so don’t stress。 Just wanted to let you know。 
  Anyway; have a good weekend。 I’ll talk to you later。 ’Bye。”

  lifesaver。 The girl was an absolute saint。 It was hard to believe 
  I’d only known her a week—and not even in person; only over the 
  phone—because I thought I was in love with her。 She was the opposite 
  of Emily in every regard: calm; grounded; and entirely 
  fashion…oblivious。 She recognized Miranda’s absurdity but didn’t 
  begrudge her it; she had that rare; charming quality of being able 
  to laugh at herself and everyone else。

  “Nope; not her;” I told Emily; lying sort of but not really; smiling 
  triumphantly。 “We’re in the clear。”

  “You’rein the clear; this time;” she said flatly。 “Just remember 
  that we’re in this together; but I am in charge。 You’ll cover for me 
  if I want to go out to lunch once in a wh

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