按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
for it。 Exactly forty minutes had passed since I’d received my
marching orders。 It was time to see if I’d passed。
A different—but equally as terrified—maid answered Miranda’s
door and ushered me into the living room。 Obviously； I
should’ve remained standing； but the leather pants I’d been
wearing since the day before felt like they were permanently
stuck to my legs； and the strappy sandals that hadn’t bothered
me so much on the plane were beginning to feel like long；
flexible razor blades affixed to my heels and toes。 I chose to
perch on the overstuffed couch； but the moment my knees bent
and my butt made contact with the cushion； her bedroom door
flew open and I instinctively launched to my feet。
“Where’s my speech？” she asked automatically； while yet
another maid followed after her holding a single earring that
Miranda had forgotten to put in。 “You did write something； did
you not？” She was wearing one of her classic Chanel
suits—round collars with fur trim—and a looping strand of
extraordinarily large pearls。
“Of course； Miranda；” I said proudly。 “I think this will be
appropriate。” I walked toward her since she was making no
effort to retrieve it herself； but before I could offer her
the paper she snatched it from my hand。 I didn’t realize until
her eyes had finished moving back and forth that I’d been
holding my breath。
“Fine。 This is fine。 Certainly nothing groundbreaking； but
fine。 Let’s go。” She picked up a matching quilted Chanel purse
and placed the chain handle over her shoulder。
“Pardon？”
“I said； let’s go。 This silly little ceremony starts in
fifteen minutes； and with any luck we’ll be out of there in
twenty。 I truly loathe these things。”
There was no way to deny that I’d heard her say both “let’s”
and “we”： I was definitely expected to go with her。 I glanced
down at my leather pants and fitted blazer and figured that if
she had no problem with it—and I certainly would’ve heard if
she had—then what did it really matter？ There would probably
be fleets of assistants roaming around； tending to their
bosses； and surely no one would care what we were wearing。
The “salon” was exactly what Briget had said it would be—a
typical hotel meeting room； plete with a couple dozen round
luncheon tables and a slightly raised presentation stage with
a podium。 I stood along the back wall with a few other
employees of various kinds and watched as the president of the
council showed an incredibly unfunny； uninteresting； wholly
uninspired movie clip on how fashion affects all of our lives。
A few more people hogged the mike for the next half hour； and
then； before a single award had been presented； an army of
waiters began bringing out salads and filling wine glasses。 I
looked warily at Miranda； who appeared acutely bored and
irritated； and tried to shrink smaller behind the potted tree
I was currently leaning against to keep from falling asleep。 I
can’t be sure how long my eyes were closed； but just as I lost
all control of my neck muscles and my head started to nod
forward uncontrollably； I heard her voice。
“Ahn…dre…ah！ I don’t have time for this nonsense；” she
whispered loudly enough that a few Clackers from a nearby
table glanced up。 “I wasn’t told that I would be receiving an
award； and I wasn’t prepared to do so。 I’m leaving。” And she
turned around and began striding toward the door。
I hobbled after her but thought better of grabbing her
shoulder。 “Miranda？ Miranda？” She was clearly ignoring me。
“Miranda？ Whom would you like to accept the award on behalf
ofRunway ？” I whispered as quietly as I could and still have
her hear me。
She whipped around and stared me straight in the eyes。 “Do you
think I care？ Go up there and accept it yourself。” And before
I could say another word； she was gone。
Oh my god。 This wasn’t happening。 I would surely wake up in my
own； unglamorous； negative…thread…count…sheeted bed in just a
minute and discover that the entire day—hell； the entire
year—had just been a particularly horrid dream。 That woman
didn’t really expect me—thejunior assistant—to go up there and
accept an award forRunway ’s fashion coverage； did she？ I
looked around the room frantically to see if anyone else
fromRunway was attending the lunch。 No such luck。 I slumped
down in a seat and tried to figure out whether I should call
Emily or Briget for advice； or whether I should just leave
myself since Miranda apparently cared nothing about receiving
this honor。 My Cell Phone had just connected to Briget’s
office （who I was hoping could make it over there in time to
take the goddamn award herself） when I heard the words “。 。 。
extend our deepest appreciation to AmericanRunway for its
accurate； amusing； and always informative fashion coverage。
Please wele its world…famous editor in chief； a living
fashion icon herself； Ms。 Miranda Priestly！”
The room erupted into applause at precisely the same moment I
felt my heart stop beating。
There was no time to think； to curse Briget for letting this
all happen； to curse Miranda for leaving and taking the speech
with her； to curse myself for ever accepting this hateful job
in the first place。 My legs moved forward on their
own；left…right； left…right； and climbed the three steps to the
podium with no incident whatsoever。 Had I not been utterly
shell…shocked； I might have noticed that the enthusiastic
clapping had given way to an eerie silence as everyone tried
to figure out who I was。 But I didn’t。 Instead； some greater
force prompted me to smile； reach out to take the plaque from
the severe…looking president’s hands； and place it shakingly
on th