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第77章

时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第77章


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  antidrinking。 I just wonder if it’s gotten a little bit out of 
  control lately; you know? Has everything been OK at school?”

  She opened her mouth to say something; but Alex popped his head in 
  the door and handed me my shrieking Cell Phone。 “It’s her;” he said 
  and left again。Argghhh! The woman had a very special gift for 
  wrecking my life。

  “Sorry;” I said to Lily; looking at the phone warily as the display 
  screamed MP CELL over and over again。 “It usually only takes a 
  second for her to humiliate or reprimand me; so hold that thought。” 
  Lily set down her brush and watched me answer。

  “Miran—” Again; I’d almost answered the line as though it were her 
  own。 “This is Andrea;” I corrected; bracing for the barrage。

  “Andrea; you know I expect you there at six…thirty tonight; do you 
  not?” she barked into the phone without a greeting or identification 
  of any sort。

  “Oh; um; you had said seven o’clock earlier。 I still need to—”

  “I said six…thirty before and I’m saying it again 
  now。Siiiiix…thiiiiirty 。 Get it?” Click。 She’d hung up。 I looked at 
  my watch。 6:05P 。M。 This was a problem。

  “She wants me there in twenty…five minutes;” I stated out loud to no 
  one in particular。

  Lily looked relieved for the distraction。 “Let’s get you moving 
  then; OK?”

  “We’re midconversation here; and this is important。 What were you 
  going to say before?” The words were right; but it was clear to both 
  of us that my mind was already a million miles away。 I’d already 
  decided there was no time to shower; as I now had fifteen minutes to 
  zip myself into black…tie and get into a car。

  “Seriously; Andy; you’ve got to move。 Go get ready—we’ll do this 
  later。”

  And once again I was left with no choice but to move quickly; heart 
  racing; climbing into my gown and running a brush through my hair 
  and trying to match some of the names with the pictures of the 
  evening’s guests that Emily had helpfully printed out earlier。 Lily 
  watched the whole thing unwind with mild amusement; but I knew she 
  was worrying about the incident with Freak Boy; and I felt terrible 
  I couldn’t deal with it right then。 Alex was on his phone with his 
  little brother; trying to convince him that he really was too young 
  to go to a movie at nine o’clock and that their mother wasn’t cruel 
  in forbidding him to do so。

  I kissed him on the cheek as he whistled and told me that he’d 
  probably meet some people for dinner but to call him later if I 
  wanted to meet up; and ran as best one can in stilts back to the 
  living room; where Lily was holding a gorgeous piece of black silk 
  fabric。 I looked at her questioningly。

  “A wrap; for your big night;” she sang; shaking it out like a 
  bedsheet。 “I want my Andy to look just as sophisticated as all the 
  big…money Carolina rednecks she’ll be serving tonight like a mon 
  waitress。 My grandmother bought it for me years ago to wear to 
  Eric’s wedding。 I can’t decide if it’s gorgeous or hideous; but it’s 
  black…tie enough and it’s Chanel; so it should do。”

  I hugged her。 “Just promise if Miranda kills me for saying the wrong 
  thing that you’ll burn this dress and make sure I’m buried in my 
  Brown sweatpants。 Promise me!” She grabbed the mascara wand I was 
  waving about and started working on me。

  “You look great; Andy; really you do。 Never thought I’d see you in 
  an Oscar gown going to one of Miranda Priestly’s parties; but; hey; 
  you look the part。 Now go。”

  She handed me the dangling; obnoxiously bright Judith Leiber bag and 
  held the door as I walked into the hallway。 “Have fun!”

  The car was waiting outside my building and John—who was shaping up 
  to be a first…class pervert—whistled as the driver held the door 
  open for me。

  “Knock ’em dead; hottie;” he called after me with an exaggerated 
  wink。 “See ya late…night。” He had no idea where I was going; of 
  course; but it was forting that he thought I’d at least be ing 
  Home。Maybe it won’t be that bad; I thought as I settled into the 
  cushy backseat of the Town Car。 But then my dress slid up over my 
  knees and the back of my legs touched the ice…cold leather seats; 
  and I lurched forward。Or; maybe; it will suck just as much as I 
  think it will?

  The driver jumped out and ran around to open the door for me; but I 
  was standing on the curb by the time he’d made it around。 I’d been 
  to the Met once before; on a day trip to New York with my mom and 
  Jill to see some of the tourist sights。 I didn’t remember any of the 
  actual exhibits we saw that day—only how much my new shoes had hurt 
  by the time we got there—but I recalled the never…ending white 
  staircase out front and the feeling that I could climb those stairs 
  forever。

  The stairs stood where I remembered them but looked different in the 
  haze of dusk。 Still accustomed to the short; miserable days of 
  winter; I thought it seemed strange that the sky was just darkening 
  and it was already six…thirty。 That night the stairs looked 
  positively regal。 They were prettier than the Spanish Steps or the 
  ones outside the library at Columbia; or even the awe…inspiring 
  spread at the Capitol building in D。C。 It wasn’t until I’d made it 
  to about the tenth one of those white beauties that I began to 
  loathe them。 What cruel; cruel sadist would make a woman in a 
  skintight; floor…length gown and spiked heels climb such a hill of 
  hell? Since I couldn’t very well hate the architect or even the 
  museum official who’d missioned him; I was forced to hate 
  Miranda; who could usually be blamed for directly or indirectly 
  causing all the misery and bad will in my life。

  The top felt like a mile away; and I flashed back to the spinning 
  classes I used to take when I still had time to go to the gym。 Some 
  Nazi instructor would sit atop her little bike and bark out orders 
  in perfect military staccato: “Pump; pump; and breathe; breathe! 
  Climb; people; climb that hill。 You’re almost at the top! Don’t lose 
  it now! Climb for your life!” I closed my eyes and tried to envision 
  pedaling instead; the wind in my hair; running over the instructor; 
  but climbing; still climbing。 Oh; anything to forget the fiery pain 
  that shot from little toe to heel to back again。 Ten more steps; 
  that was all that was left; just ten more; oh; god; was that wetness 
  in my shoes blood? Would I have to walk before Miranda in a sweaty 
  Oscar gown and bloody feet? Please; oh please; say that I was almost 
  there and 。 。 。 there! The top。 The feeling of victory was no less 
  than that of a world…class sprinter who’d just won her first gold 
  medal。 I inhaled mightily; clenched my fingers to fight off the urge 
  for a victory cigarette; and reapplied my Fudgsicle Lipsmackers。 It 
  was time to be a lady。

  The guard opened the door for me; bowed slightly; and smiled。 He 
  probably thought I was a guest。

  “Hi; miss; you must be Andrea。 Ilana said to have a seat right over 
  there; and she’ll be out in a minute。” He turned away and spoke 
  discreetly into a microphone on his sleeve and nodded when he heard 
  a response through his earpiece。 “Yes; right over there; miss。 
  She’ll be here as soon as she can。”

  I looked around the enormous entryway but didn’t feel like going 
  through the dress…adjustment hassle of actually sitting。 Besides; 
  when would I ever again have the chance to be in the Metropolitan 
  Museum of Art; after hours; with apparently no one else there? The 
  ticket booths were empty and the ground…level galleries dark; but 
  the sense of history; of culture; was awesome。 The silence itself 
  was deafening。

  After nearly fifteen minutes of peering around; being careful not to 

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