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第41章

时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第41章


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  were still hanging out when I was doing the day’s first coffee run。 
  There was something so fantastic—invigorating; really—in making sure 
  that these overpriced; Elias…sponsored Coffee faves made it into the 
  hands of the city’s most undesirable people。

  The urine…soaked man who slept outside the Chase Bank got a daily 
  Mocha Frappuccino。 He never actually woke up to accept it; but I 
  left it (with a straw; of course) next to his left elbow each 
  morning; and it was often gone—along with him—when I returned for my 
  next Coffee run a few hours later。

  The old lady who propped herself up on her cart and set out a 
  cardboard sign that readNO Home/CAN CLEAN/NEED FOOD got the Caramel 
  Macchiato。 I soon found her name was Theresa; and I used to buy her 
  a tall latte; like Miranda’s。 She always said thank you; but she 
  never made a move to taste it while it was still hot。 When I finally 
  asked her if she wanted me to stop bringing them; she vigorously 
  shook her head and mumbled that she hates to be picky; but she’d 
  actually like something sweeter; that the coffee was too strong。 The 
  next day I had her coffee flavored with vanilla and topped with 
  whipped cream。 Was this better? Oh yes; it was much; much better; 
  but maybe now it was a touch too sweet。 One more day and I finally 
  got it right: it turns out Theresa liked her Coffee unflavored; 
  topped with whipped cream and some caramel syrup。 She flashed a 
  near…toothless smile and began guzzling it each and every day; the 
  moment I handed it to her。

  The third Coffee went to Rio; the Nigerian who sold CDs off a 
  blanket。 He didn’t appear to be Homeless; but he walked over to me 
  one morning when I was handing Theresa her daily fix and said; or; 
  rather; sang; “Yo; yo; yo; you like the Starbucks fairy or what? 
  Where’s mine?” I handed him a grande Amaretto Cappuccino the next 
  day; and we’d been friends ever since。

  I expensed twenty…four dollars more every day on Coffee than 
  necessary (Miranda’s single latte should’ve cost a mere four 
  dollars) to take yet another passive…aggressive swipe at the 
  pany; my personal reprimand to them for Miranda Priestly’s free 
  rein。 I handed them out to the filthy; the smelly; and the crazy 
  because that—and not the wasted money—was what wouldreally piss them 
  off。

  By the time I made it to the lobby; Pedro; the heavily accented 
  Mexican delivery boy from Mangia; was chatting in Spanish with 
  Eduardo near the elevator bank。

  “Hey; here’s our girlie;” said Pedro as a few Clackers peered over 
  at us。 “I’ve got the usual: bacon; sausage; and one nasty…looking 
  cheese thing。 You only ordered one today! Don’t know how you eat 
  this shit and stay so thin; girl。” He grinned。 I suppressed the urge 
  to tell him he didn’t have a clue what thin looked like。 Pedro knew 
  full well that I was not the one eating his breakfasts; but like 
  every one of the dozen or so people I spoke to before eightA 。M。 
  each day; he didn’t really know the details。 I handed him a ten; as 
  usual; for the 3。99 breakfast; and headed upstairs。

  She was on the phone when I entered the office; her snakeskin Gucci 
  trench draped across the top of my desk。 My blood pressure increased 
  tenfold。 Would it kill her to take the extra two steps over to the 
  closet; open it; and hang up her own coat? Why did she have to take 
  it off and fling it over my desk? I put down the latte; looked over 
  at Emily; who was too busy answering three phone lines to notice me; 
  and hung up the snakeskin。 I shook off my own coat and bent down to 
  toss it underneath my desk; since mine might infect hers if they 
  mingled in the closet。

  I grabbed two raw sugars; a stirrer; and a napkin from a stock I 
  kept in my desk drawer and wrapped them all together。 I briefly 
  considered spitting in the drink but was able to restrain myself。 
  Next; I pulled a small china plate from the overhead bin and dumped 
  out the greasy meat and the oozing Danish; wiping my hands on her 
  dirty dry cleaning; which was hidden beneath my desk so she couldn’t 
  see it hadn’t been picked up yet。 I was theoretically supposed to 
  clean her plate each day in the sink in our mock…up kitchen; but I 
  just couldn’t bring myself to bother。 The humiliation of doing her 
  dishes in front of everyone prompted me to wipe it down with tissues 
  after each meal and scrape off any leftover cheese with my 
  fingernails。 If it was really dirty or had been sitting for a long 
  time; I’d open a bottle of the Pellegrino we kept by the case and 
  dump a little bit on。 I figured she should be thankful I wasn’t 
  using a spritz or two of desk cleaner。 I was reasonably sure that I 
  had reached a new moral low—what was worrisome was that I’d sunk to 
  it so naturally。

  “Remember; I want my girls smiling;” she was saying into the phone。 
  I could tell from her tone she was talking to Lucia; the fashion 
  director who’d be in charge of the uping Brazil shoot; about how 
  the models should appear。 “Happy; lots of teeth; clean healthy 
  girls。 No brooding; no anger; no frowning; no dark makeup。 I want 
  them shining。 I mean it; Lucia: I will accept nothing less。”

  I set the plate on the edge of her desk and placed the latte and the 
  napkin with all necessary accessories next to it。 She didn’t look at 
  me。 I paused for a moment to see if she’d hand me a pile of papers 
  off her desk; things to fax or find or file; but she ignored me and 
  I walked out。 Eight…thirtyA 。M。 I’d been awake now for three full 
  hours; felt like I’d already worked for twelve; and could finally 
  sit down for the very first time all morning。 Just as I was logging 
  on to Hotmail; anticipating some fun e…mails from people on the 
  outside; she walked out。 The belted jacket cinched her already tiny 
  waist and plemented the perfectly fitted pencil skirt she wore 
  beneath it。 She looked dynamite。

  “Ahn…dre…ah。 The latte is ice cold。 I don’t understand why。 You were 
  certainly gone long enough! Bring me another。”

  I inhaled deeply and concentrated on keeping the look of hatred off 
  my face。 Miranda set the offending latte on my desk and flipped 
  through the new issue ofVanity Fair that a staffer had set on the 
  table for her。 I could feel Emily watching me and knew her look 
  would be one of sympathy and anger: she felt bad that I had to 
  repeat the hellish ordeal all over again; but she hated me for 
  daring to be upset about it。 After all; wouldn’t a million girls die 
  for my job?

  And so with an audible sigh—something I’d perfected lately; so it 
  was just enough Miranda could hear but not nearly enough she could 
  ever call me on it—I once again put on my coat and willed my legs to 
  move toward the elevators。 It was going to be another long; long 
  day。

  The second coffee run in twenty minutes went much more smoothly; the 
  lines at Starbucks had thinned a little and Marion had e on duty。 
  She herself got to work on a tall latte as soon as I walked in the 
  door。 I didn’t bother overspending on a larger order this time 
  because I was too desperate to just get back and sit down; but I did 
  addventi cappuccinos for both Emily and me。 Just as I was paying for 
  the coffee; my phone rang。 Goddamn it to hell; this woman was 
  impossible。 Insatiable; impatient; impossible。 I hadn’t been gone 
  for more than four minutes; she couldn’t possibly be freaking out 
  yet。 Again; I balanced my tray in one hand and pulled my phone from 
  my coat pocket。 I’d already decided that such behavior on her part 
  warranted my having another cigarette—if just to hold up her Coffee 
  a few minutes longer—when I saw that it was Lily calling from her 
  Home phone。

  “Hey; bad time?” she asked; s

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