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第34章

时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第34章


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  miniskirt。

  “Hey; Andy; how’d the Book dropping…off go?” We waited in line to 
  check our coats and I had immediately spotted Brad Pitt。

  “Ohmigod; you’re joking。 Brad Pitt’s here?”

  “Yeah; well; Marshall does Jennifer’s hair; natch。 So she must be 
  here also。 Really; Andy; maybe next time you’ll believe me when I 
  tell you to stick with me。 Let’s get a drink。”

  The Reese and Johnny spottings had e back to back; and by the 
  time oneA 。M。 rolled around; I’d had four drinks and was happily 
  gabbing away with a fashion assistant fromVogue 。 We were discussing 
  bikini waxes。 Passionately。 And it didn’t even bother me。Christ; I 
  thought; as I weaved through the crowd looking for James; flashing a 
  giant kiss…ass smile in the general direction of Jennifer Aniston 
  when I passed by—this isn’t a half…bad party。 But I was tipsy; I had 
  to be at work again in less than six hours; and I hadn’t been Home 
  in nearly twenty…four; so when I spotted James making out with one 
  of the colorists from Marshall’s salon; I was just about to duck out 
  when I felt a hand in the small of my back。

  “Hey;” said the gorgeous guy I’d spotted earlier lurking in the 
  corner。 I waited for him to realize that he’d approached the wrong 
  girl; that I must’ve looked the same as his girlfriend from behind; 
  but he just smiled even wider。 “Not so talkative; are you?”

  “Oh; and saying ‘hey’ makes you articulate; I guess?”Andy! Shut your 
  mouth! I berated silently。Some absolutely beautiful man approaches 
  you out of the blue at a party full of celebrities and you tell him 
  off right away? But he didn’t seem offended; and even though it 
  didn’t seem possible; his smile increased in size to an all…out 
  grin。

  “Sorry;” I muttered while examining my nearly empty drink。 “My 
  name’s Andrea。 There。 I think that’s a much better way of 
  beginning。” I stuck out my hand and wondered what he wanted。

  “Actually; I liked your way just fine。 Name’s Christian。 A pleasure 
  to meet you; Andy。” He pushed a brown curl out of his left eye and 
  took a swig from a bottle of Budweiser。 He looked vaguely familiar; 
  I decided; but I couldn’t place him。

  “Bud; huh?” I asked; pointing to his hand。 “I didn’t think they 
  served something so lowbrow at a party like this。”

  He laughed; a deep; hearty laugh instead of the chuckle I’d 
  expected。 “You sure do say what you think; don’t you?” I must’ve 
  looked mortified; because he smiled again and said; “No; no; that’s 
  a good thing。 And a rare thing; especially in this industry。 I 
  couldn’t bring myself to drink champagne from a straw out of a 
  minibottle; you know? Something fairly emasculating about that。 So 
  the bartender dug one of these out of the kitchen somewhere。” 
  Another curl push; but it fell back in his eye the moment he took 
  his hand away。 He pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his 
  black sport coat and offered it to me。 I took one and proceeded to 
  drop it immediately; seizing the opportunity to examine him while I 
  reached down to retrieve it。

  It landed a few inches from his shiny; square…toed loafers that 
  sported the irrefutable Gucci tassel; and on the way up I noticed 
  that his Diesel jeans were the perfect parts faded; long; and wide 
  enough at the bottom that they dragged a little behind the shiny 
  loafers; the ends frayed from repeated interaction with the soles。 A 
  black belt; probably Gucci but thankfully not recognizable; kept the 
  jeans riding in the perfect low spot below his waist; where he had 
  tucked in a plain white cotton T…shirt—one that even though it 
  easily could have been a Hanes was definitely an Armani or a Hugo 
  Boss and was put in place only to offset his beautiful plexion。 
  His black blazer looked just as expensive and well cut; perhaps even 
  custom…made to fit his average…size but inexplicably sexy frame; and 
  it was his green eyes that manded the most attention。 Seafoam; I 
  thought; remembering the old J。Crew colors we’d loved so much in 
  high school; or perhaps just a straightforward teal。 The height; the 
  build; the whole package looked vaguely like Alex; just with a whole 
  lot more Euro style and a whole lot less Abercrombie。 Slightly 
  cooler; slightly better looking。 Definitely older; right around 
  thirty。 And probably much too slick。

  He immediately produced a flame and leaned in close to make sure my 
  cigarette had caught。 “So what brings you to a party like this; 
  Andrea? Are you one of the lucky few who can call Marshall Madden 
  her own?”

  “No; I’m afraid not。 At least not yet; although he wasn’t all that 
  subtle in telling me that I probably should be。” I laughed; noticing 
  for a brief moment that I wasdesperate to impress this stranger。 “I 
  work atRunway 。 One of the beauty guys dragged me here。”

  “Ah;Runway magazine; huh? Cool place to work; if you’re into S&M and 
  that sort of thing。 How do you like it?”

  I wasn’t sure if he meant S&M or the job itself; but I considered 
  the possibility that he got it; that he was enough of an insider to 
  know that it wasn’t exactly how it appeared to those on the outside。 
  Perhaps I should charm him with the nightmare involved in dropping 
  off the Book earlier that night? No; no; I had no idea who this guy 
  was 。 。 。 for all I knew he also worked atRunway in some far…flung 
  department I hadn’t even seen yet; or maybe for another Elias…Clark 
  magazine。 Or maybe; just maybe; he was one of those sneakyPage Six 
  reporters that Emily had so carefully warned me against。 “They just 
  appear;” she’d said ominously。 “They just appear and try to trick 
  you into saying something juicy about Miranda orRunway 。 Just be 
  aware。” Between that and the tracking ID cards; I was quite sure 
  thatRunway ’s surveillance put the mob to shame。 TheRunway Paranoid 
  Turnaround was back。

  “Yeah;” I said; trying to sound casual and nonmittal。 “It’s a 
  strange place。 I’m not so into fashion—I’d actually rather be 
  writing; but I guess it’s not a bad start。 What do you do?”

  “I’m a writer。”

  “Oh; you are? That must be nice。” I hoped I didn’t sound quite as 
  condescending as I felt; but it got to be really annoying when 
  anyone and everyone in New York anointed himself or herself a writer 
  or actor or poet or artist。I used to write for the paper in college; 
  I thought to myself;and hell; I even had an essay published in a 
  monthly magazine once in high school。 Did that make me a writer? 
  “What do you write?”

  “Mostly literary fiction so far; but I’m actually working on my 
  first historical novel。” He took another swig and swatted yet again 
  at that pesky but adorable curl。

  “First historical” implied that there other were nonhistorical 
  novels。 Interesting。 “What’s it about?”

  He thought for a moment and then said; “It’s a story told from the 
  perspective of a young woman; about what it was like to live in this 
  country during World War Two。 I’m still finishing my research; 
  transcribing interviews and things like that; but the little writing 
  I’ve done so far has e along。 I think 。 。 。”

  He continued talking; but I’d already tuned him out。 Holy shit。 I 
  recognized the book description immediately from aNew Yorker article 
  I’d just read。 It seemed the entire book world was eagerly 
  anticipating his next contribution and couldn’t shut up about the 
  realism with which he depicts his female heroine。 I was standing at 
  a party; casually chatting with Christian Collinsworth; the boy 
  genius who’d first been published at the ripe old age of twenty from 
  a Yale library cubicle。 The critics had gone crazy over his first 
  book; hailing it as one of the most significant l

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