conceptualization of forty grand: two full years’ college tuition, a down payment on a
new home, an averageyearly salary for a typical American family of four. Or, at the very
least, one hell of a lot of Prada bags. But one dress? I thought I’d seen it all at that point,
but I was due another zinger when the dress came back from the couture dry cleaner with
a calligraphic envelope that readMs. Miranda Priestly . Inside was a hand-printed invoice
on cream-colored cardstock that read:
Garment type:Evening gown. Designer:Chanel. Length:Ankle. Colour:Red. Size:Zero.
Description:Hand-beaded, sleeveless with slight scoop neckline, invisible side zipper,
heavy silk lining. Service:Basic, first-time cleaning. Fee:$670.
There was an additional note underneath the actual bill part from the shop’s owner, a
woman I was sure paid both the rent for her store and her home with the money she
received from Elias on behalf of Miranda’s extensive dry-cleaning addiction.
We were delighted to work on such a gorgeous gown and we hope you enjoy wearing it
to your party at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. As directed, we will pick up the gown
on Monday, May 24, for its postparty cleaning. Please let us know if we may be of any
additional service. All the best, Colette.
Either way, it was only Thursday and Miranda had a brand-new and newly cleaned gown
resting gently in her closet, and Emily had located the exact silver Jimmy Choo sandals
she’d requested. The hair stylist was due at her house at five-thirtyP .M. on Friday, the
makeup artist at five forty-five, and Uri was on call for exactly six-fifteen to take
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Miranda and Mr. Tomlinson to the museum.
Miranda had already left for the day to watch Cassidy’s gymnastics meet, and I was
hoping to duck out early to surprise Lily. She’d just finished her last exam of the year and
I wanted to take her out for a celebration.
“Hey, Em, do you think I could leave by six-thirty or seven today? Miranda said she
didn’t need the Book because there really wasn’t anything new,” I added quickly,
irritated that I had to beg my equal, my peer for permission to leave work after only
twelve hours instead of the usual fourteen.
“Um, sure. Yeah, whatever. I’m leaving now.” She checked her computer screen and
saw that it was a little after five. “Stay for another couple hours and then head out. She’s
with the twins tonight, so I don’t think she should be calling much.” She had a date that
night with the guy she’d met in LA over New Year’s. He’d finally made it to New York
and, surprise of all surprises, he’d actually called. They were headed to Craftbar for
drinks, at which point she would treat him to Nobu if he was behaving himself. She’d
made the reservations five weeks earlier when he’d e-mailed that he might be in New
York, but Emily still had to use Miranda’s name to score the time slot.
“Well, what are you going to do when you show up there and you’re clearly not Miranda
Priestly?” I asked stupidly.
As usual, I received an expert eye-roll-deep-sigh combo. “I’ll simply tell them that
Miranda had to be out of town unexpectedly, show them a business card, and tell them
she wanted me to have her reservation. Hardly a big deal.”
Miranda called only once after Emily left to tell me that she wouldn’t be in the office
until noon tomorrow, but she’d like a copy of the restaurant review she’d read today “in
the paper.” I had the presence of mind to ask if she recalled the name of the restaurant or
the paper in which she read about it, but this annoyed her greatly.
“Ahn-dre-ah, I’m already late for the meet. Don’t grill me. It was an Asian fusion
restaurant and it was in today’s paper. That’s all.” And with that, she snapped her
Motorola V60 shut. I hoped, as I usually did when she cut me off midsentence, that one
day the cell phone would simply clamp down on her perfectly manicured fingers and
swallow them whole, taking special time to shred those flawless red nails. No luck yet.
I wrote a quick note to myself to find the restaurant first thing in the morning in the
notebook I kept with Miranda’s myriad and ever-changing requests and bolted for the car.
I called Lily from my cell and she picked up just as I was about to get out and go up to
the apartment, and so I waved to John Fisher-Galliano (who had grown his hair a little
longer and adorned his uniform with a few chains and looked more like the designer each
and every day) but didn’t move.
“Hey, what’s up? It’s me.”
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“Hiiiiiiiiiii,”she sang, happier than I’d heard her in weeks, maybe months. “I am so done.
Done! No early summer session, nothing but a little, insignificant proposal due for a
master’s thesis that I can change ten times after the fact if I want. So that leaves nothing
until mid-July. Do you believe it?” She sounded positively gleeful.
“I know, I’m so excited for you! You up for a celebratory dinner? Anywhere you want,
it’s onRunway .”
“Really? Anywhere?”
“Anywhere. I’m downstairs and I have a car. Come down; we’ll go somewhere great.”
She squealed. “Fun! I’ve been meaning to tell you all about Freudian Boy. He’s
beautiful! Hold on one second. I’m putting on jeans and I’ll be right down.”
She bounded out five minutes later looking trendier and happier than I’d seen her in a
very long time. She wore a pair of tight, faded boot-cut jeans that hugged her hips, paired
with a long-sleeve flowy white peasant blouse. A pair of flip-flops I’d never seen
before—brown leather straps with turquoise beads—completed the look. She was even
wearing makeup, and her curls looked as though they had seen a blow-dryer at some
point in the last twenty-four hours.
“You look great,” I said as she bounded into the backseat. “What’s your secret?”
“Freudian Boy, of course. He’s amazing. I think I’m in love. So far, he’s going strong at
nine-tenths. Do you believe it?”
“First, let’s decide where we’re going. I didn’t make a reservation anywhere, but I can
call ahead and use Miranda’s name. Anywhere you want.”
She was rubbing on some Kiehl’s lip gloss and staring at herself in the driver’s rearview
mirror. “Anywhere?” she said absentmindedly.
“Anywhere. Maybe Chicama for those mojitos?” I suggested, knowing that the way to
sell Lily on a restaurant was by advertising its drinks, not its food. “Or there are those
amazing Cosmos at Meet. Or the Hudson Hotel—maybe we can even sit outside? If you
want wine, though, I’d love to try—”
“Andy, can we go to Benihana? I’ve been craving it forever.” She looked sheepish.
“Benihana? You want to go toBenihana ? Like, the chain restaurant where they seat you
with tourists who have lots of whining children and unemployed Asian actors cook the
food right on your table?That Benihana?”
She was nodding so enthusiastically, I had no choice but to call for the address.
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“No, no, I have it right here. Fifty-sixth between Fifth and Sixth, north side of the street,”
she called to the driver.
My weirdly excited friend didn’t seem to notice that I was staring. Instead, she chatted
happily about Freudian Boy, aptly named because he was in his last year of a Ph.D.
program in psychology. They’d met in the graduate student lounge in the basement of
Low Library. I got the full rundown on all of his qualifications: twenty-nine years old
(“So much more mature, but not at all too old”), originally from Montreal (“Such a cute
French accent, but like, totally Americanized”), longish hair (“But not freaky ponytail
long”), and just the right amount of stubble (“He looks just like Antonio Banderas when
he doesn’t shave for three days”).
The samurai chef-actors did their thing, slicing and dicing and flipping cubes of meat all
over the place while Lily laughed and clapped her hands like a little girl at her first circus.
Although it seemed impossible to believe that Lily actually liked a guy, it appeared to be
the only logical explanation for her obvious elation. Even more impossible to believe was
her claim that she hadn’t slept with him yet (“Two and a half full weeks of hanging out
constantly at school and nothing! Aren’t you proud of me?”). When I asked why I hadn’t
seen him around the apartment at all, she’d smiled proudly and said, “He hasn’t been
invited over to the apartment yet. We’re taking things slow.” We were standing directly
outside the restaurant as she regaled me with all the funny stories he’d told her when
Christian Collinsworth appeared in front of me.
“Andrea. The lovely Andrea. I have to say, I’m rather surprised to discover that you’re a
fan of Benihana . . . What would Miranda think?” he asked teasingly, sliding his arm
around my shoulder.
“I, uh, well . . .” The stammering was immediately all-consuming. There was no room
for words when the thoughts were bouncing off each side of my head, pinging between
my ears.Eating at Benihana. Christian knows it! Miranda at Benihana! Looks so adorable
in leather bomber jacket! Must be able to smell the Benihana on me! Don’t kiss him on
the cheek! Kiss him on the cheek! “Well, it’s not that, uh, that . . .”
“We were actually just discussing where we would be going next,” Lily stated crisply,
extending her hand to Christian, who, it finally occurred to me, was alone. “We must’ve
gotten so caught up that we didn’t even realize we’d stopped in the middle of the street!
Hah, hah! How do like that, Andy? My name’s Lily,” she said to Christian, who shook
her hand and then pushed a curl away from his eye, just like he’d done so many times at
the party. Once again I had an odd feeling that I could be entranced for hours, maybe
days, just watching him push that single, adorable curl away from his perfect face.
I stared at her and at him and became vaguely aware that I had to say something, but the
two of them seemed to be holding up just fine on their own.
“Lily,” Christian rolled the name around on his tongue. “Lily.Great name. Almost as
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great asAndrea. ” I had the presence of mind to at least look at them, and I noticed that
Lily was beaming. She was thinking to herself that this guy was not only older and hot,
but he was also charming. I could see the wheels turning, weighing whether I was
interested in him, if I’d actually do anything because of Alex, and, if so, if there was
anything she could do to expedite it. She adored Alex because, really, how could you not,
but she refused to understand how two people so young could spend so much time
together—or, at least, that’s what she claimed, although I knew that it was only the
monogamy part that really blew her away. If there was a speck of a chance of some
drama between Christian and me, then Lily would die fanning the fire.
“Lily, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Christian, a friend of Andrea’s. Do you always
stop in front of Benihana to talk?” His smile actually prompted a shooting-sinking feeling
in my stomach.
Lily threw back her own brown curls with the back of her hand and said, “Well of course
not, Christian! We just had dinner at Town and were trying to figure out a good place to
get a drink. Any suggestions?”
Town! It was one of the hottest and most expensive restaurants in the city. Miranda went
there. Jessica and her fiancé went there. Emily talked obsessively about wanting to go
there. But Lily?
“Well, that’s weird,” Christian said, obviously buying the whole thing. “I just came from
a dinner with my agent there. Strange that I didn’t see you two . . .”
“We were all the way in the back, kind of tucked behind the bar,” I said quickly,
regaining a modicum of composure. Thankfully I’d paid attention when Emily had made
me look at the tiny picture of the restaurant’s bar listed oncitysearch.com when she was
trying to decide if it was a good date place.
“Mmm.” He nodded, looking a little distracted and cuter than ever. “So, you girls are on
your way to get a drink?”
I felt an overwhelming need to shower the Benihana stink from my clothes and hair, but
Lily wasn’t giving me a chance. I briefly wondered if it was as obvious to Christian as it
was to me that I was being whored out, but he was hot and she was determined, so I kept
my mouth shut.
“Yep, we were just discussing where to go. Any suggestions? We’d both just love for
you to join us,” Lily declared, tugging on his arm playfully. “What’s around here that you
like?”
“Well, midtown isn’t exactly known for its bar scene, but I’m meeting my agent at Au
Bar if you girls would like to come along. He just ran back to the office to pick up a few
papers, but he should be there in a little. Andy, maybe you’d like to meet him—you never
know when you’re going to need an agent. So, Au Bar, how about it?”
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Lily was peering at me with an encouraging look, one that screamed,He’s beautiful,
Andy! Beautiful! I may not know who the hell he is, but he wants you so pull yourself
together and tell him how much you love Au Bar!
“I love Au Bar,” I said somewhat convincingly, even though I’d never been. “I think it’s
perfect.”
Lily smiled and Christian smiled and together we set off for Au Bar. Christian
Collinsworth and I were going to get a drink together. Did this qualify as a date?Of
course not, don’t be ridiculous, I berated myself.Alex, Alex, Alex, I silently chanted, both
determined to remember that I had a very loving boyfriend and disappointed with myself
for having to force myself to remember that I had a very loving boyfriend.
Even though it was a random Thursday night, the velvet rope police were out in full
force, and, while they had no problem letting the three of us in, no one was offering
reduced admission of any sort: twenty bucks just to get in the door.
But before I could hand over my cash, Christian deftly peeled three twenties from a huge
wad he pulled from his pocket and handed them over without a word.
I tried to protest, but Christian put two fingers to my lips. “Darling Andy, don’t worry
