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第79章

时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第79章


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  worse。

  “There’s only one couple I haven’t identified yet; so I guess I’ll 
  know them by default;” I said。

  “Oh; my。 I don’t know how you do it。 I’m annoyed I have to be here 
  on a Friday night; but I can’t imagine doing your job。 How do you 
  take it? How do you stand being spoken to and treated like that?”

  It took me a moment to realize that this question caught me 
  off…guard: no one had really ever volunteered anything negative 
  about my job。 I’d always thought I was the only one—among the 
  millions of imaginary girls that would “die” for my job—who saw 
  anything remotely disturbing about my situation。 It was more 
  horrifying to see the shock in her eyes than it was to witness the 
  hundreds of ridiculous things I saw each and every day at work; the 
  way she looked at me with that pure; unadulterated pity triggered 
  something inside me。 I did what I hadn’t done in months of working 
  under subhuman conditions for a nonhuman boss; what I always managed 
  to keep suppressed for a more appropriate time。 I started to cry。

  Ilana looked more shocked than ever。 “Oh; sweetie; e here! I’m so 
  sorry! I didn’t mean anything by it。 You’re a saint for putting up 
  with that witch; you hear me? e with me。” She pulled me by the 
  hand and led me down another darkened hallway toward an office in 
  the back。 “Here; now sit for a minute and forget all about what 
  these stupid people look like。”

  I sniffled and started to feel stupid。

  “And don’t feel strange; you hear? I have a feeling you kept that 
  inside for a long; long time and you have to have a good cry every 
  now and then。”

  She was fumbling around in her desk for something while I tried to 
  wipe the mascara from my cheeks。 “Here;” she proclaimed proudly。 
  “I’m destroying this right after you see it; and if you even think 
  of telling anyone about it; I’ll wreck your life。 But just look; 
  it’s amazing。” She handed me a manila envelope sealed with a 
  “Confidential” sticker and smiled。

  I tore off the sticker and pulled a green folder out。 Inside was a 
  photo—a color photocopy; actually—of Miranda stretched out on a 
  restaurant banquette。 I recognized it immediately as a picture taken 
  by a famous society photographer during a recent birthday party for 
  Donna Karan at Pastis。 It had already appeared on the pages ofNew 
  York magazine and was bound to keep showing up。 In it she was 
  wearing her signature brown and white snakeskin trench coat; the one 
  I always thought made her look like a snake。

  Well; it seems I wasn’t alone; because in this version; someone had 
  subtly—expertly—attached a scaled…to…size cutout of a rattlesnake’s 
  rattle directly where her legs should have been。 The effect was a 
  fabulous rendition of Miranda as Snake: she rested her elbow on the 
  banquette; cradled her chiseled chin in her palm; and stretched out 
  across the leather; with her rattle curled in a semicircle and 
  hanging off the edge of the bench。 It was perfect。

  “Isn’t it great?” Ilana asked; leaning over my shoulder。 “Linda came 
  into my office one afternoon。 She’d just spent the entire day on the 
  phone with Miranda; selecting which gallery they’d dine in。 Linda 
  naturally insisted on one gallery because it’s by far the best size 
  and most beautiful; but Miranda mandated that it be held in the 
  other one near the gift shop。 They went back and forth for a while 
  before Linda finally—after days of negotiations—got permission from 
  the board to hold it in Miranda’s gallery; and she was so excited to 
  call Miranda and tell her the great news。 Guess what happened when 。 
  。 。”

  “She changed her mind; obviously;” I said quietly; feeling her 
  irritation。 “She decided to do exactly as Linda suggested in the 
  first place; but only once she was sure everyone would jump through 
  all her hoops。”

  “Precisely。 Well; this irritated the hell out of me。 I’ve never seen 
  the entire museum turn itself upside down for anyone—I mean; christ; 
  the president of the United States could ask to have a State 
  Department dinner here and they wouldn’t let him! And then your boss 
  thinks she can march in and order everyone around; make our lives a 
  living hell for days on end。 Anyway; I made this pretty little 
  picture as a pick…me…up for Linda。 You know what she did with it? 
  Shrunk it on the copier so she could have a little one for her 
  wallet! I just thought you’d get a kick out of this。 Even if it’s 
  just to remind you that you’re not alone。 You’re definitely the 
  worst off; but you’re not alone。”

  I stuck the picture back in its confidential envelope and handed it 
  back to Ilana。 “You’re the best;” I said; touching her shoulder。 “I 
  really; really appreciate it。 I promise to never; ever tell anyone 
  where I got this; but will you please send this to me? I don’t think 
  it’ll fit in the Leiber bag; but I’d give anything if you’d send it 
  to me at Home。 Please?”

  She smiled and motioned for me to write my address; and we both 
  stood up and walked (I hobbled) back to the museum’s foyer。 It was 
  just about seven; and the guests were due to arrive any minute。 
  Miranda and B…DAD were talking to his brother; the honored guest and 
  groom; who looked like he had played soccer; football; lacrosse; and 
  rugby at a Southern school—one where he was always surrounded by 
  cooing blondes。 The cooing blonde of twenty…six who was to bee 
  his bride was standing quietly by his side; gazing up at him 
  adoringly。 She was holding a snifter of something and chortling at 
  his jokes。

  Miranda was hanging on to B…DAD’s forearm with the fakest of smiles 
  plastered across her face。 I didn’t have to hear what they were 
  saying to know that she was barely responding at the appropriate 
  time。 Social graces were not her strength; as she had little 
  tolerance for small talk—but I knew she’d be on her best kiss…ass 
  behavior tonight。 I’d e to realize that her “friends” all fell 
  into one of two categories。 There were those she perceived as 
  “above” her and who must be impressed。 This list was short; but it 
  generally included people like Irv Ravitz; Oscar de la Renta; 
  Hillary Clinton; and any first…rate; A…list movie star。 Then there 
  were those “below” her; who must be patronized and belittled so they 
  don’t forget their place; which included basically everyone else: 
  allRunway employees; all family members; all parents of her 
  children’s friends—unless they coincidentally fell into category 
  number one—almost all designers and other magazine editors; and 
  every single solitary person in the service industry; both here and 
  abroad。 Tonight was sure to be amusing because these were category 
  two people who would have to be treated like category ones; merely 
  because of their association with Mr。 Tomlinson and his brother。 I 
  always enjoyed the rare occasions when I got to watch Miranda try to 
  impress those around her; mostly because she wasn’t naturally 
  charming。

  I felt the first guests arrive before I saw them。 The tension in the 
  room was palpable。 Remembering my color printouts; I rushed over to 
  the couple and offered to take the woman’s fur wrap。 “Mr。 and Mrs。 
  Wilkinson; thank you so much for joining us this evening。 Please; 
  I’ll take that。 And Ilana here will show you to the atrium; where 
  cocktails are being served。” I hoped I wasn’t staring during my 
  monologue; but the spectacle was truly outrageous。 I’d seen women 
  dressed like hookers and men dressed like women and models not 
  dressed at all at Miranda’s parties; but never before had I seen 
  people dressed like this。 I knew it wasn’t going to be a trendy New 
  York crowd; but I was expecting them 

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