Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (222 page)

Andy's grandmother waved her hand dismissively. ‘I lived long enough to see this one married off, which I never thought would happen. And not just married off, but pregnant. Will wonders never cease.'

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Andy burst out laughing. It was so vintage Grams. She hugged her grandmother and whispered to Jill, ‘Thanks for getting them all out of here.'

‘Before everyone goes, we have another exciting announcement …' Max said, standing to get the room's attention.

‘Oh Christ, it's twins,' Andy's grandmother moaned. ‘Two identical little rug rats at the same time.'

‘Twins?' Mrs Harrison asked, her voice rising by at least three octaves. ‘Oh, my.'

Andy could feel Jill turn to her questioningly, but she was too busy shooting Max a warning look to respond. He didn't catch her eye.

‘No, no, it's not twins. It's about
The Plunge.
It seems Andy and Emily got'

‘Max, please don't,' Andy said quietly, her voice as hard and even as she could manage without creating a scene.

He either didn't hear her or didn't care.

‘an incredible offer from Elias-Clark to acquire
The Plunge.
An outrageously generous offer, to be more precise. Those two pretty much accomplished the impossible in getting such a young start-up noticed and courted like that so soon. Let's all raise a glass to all of Andy's hard work.'

Exactly no one raised a glass. They all began talking at once.

Andy's father: ‘Elias-Clark? Does that mean you-know-who all over again?'

Barbara: ‘Well, it couldn't have come at a more auspicious time! You'll be able to unload that little vanity project and move on to something more rewarding, like spending time with your baby. And perhaps I could get you involved with some boards …'

Jill: ‘Wow, congratulations! Even if you don't want to sell it to them, the offer itself is such an honor.'

Andy's mother: ‘I can't abide the idea of you working with … with … oh, what's her name again? The one who tortured you for a year?'

Grams: ‘What, you work all this time to build the whole damn thing and now you just turn around and sell it? I don't understand you kids today.'

Andy glared at Max until he walked across the living room and enveloped her in a bear hug. ‘Wonderful, isn't it? I'm so proud of her.'

Jill must have caught the look on Andy's face, because she sprang to her feet and announced to everyone that they'd all had enough excitement for one night, and they should all leave immediately so Andy and Max could sleep.

‘I'll call you from the airport tomorrow, okay?' Jill said, standing on tiptoe to wrap her arms around Andy's neck. ‘I'm so incredibly excited for you guys. It really is the greatest thing ever. And I won't even give you shit about telling me at the same time you told your mother-in-law. I'm not offended, don't worry.'

‘Good,' Andy said with a grin. ‘Because pregnant people can do no wrong, as I'm quickly finding out.'

Jill shrugged on her down coat – it was bracingly cold, even for November – and said, ‘Enjoy it while it lasts. People only care when it's your first. You can be nine months and ready to pop with your second, and no one's even going to offer you a seat. And your third?' She snorted. ‘They outright ask if it was planned or not. Like they couldn't imagine anyone doing that voluntarily …'

Andy laughed.

‘Not that we did do it voluntarily …'

‘Details.' Andy reached out and tucked Jill's hair behind her ear. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to spend a quiet moment or two with her sister. Living across the country, they saw each other so rarely, and when they did, the kids and Kyle and Max and Andy's mom were almost always there, too. They hadn't been that close growing up – the nine-year age difference meant Jill had left for college when Andy was only a little girl herself – but in the last five or six years, the girls had begun talking regularly on the phone and tried to plan more frequent visits. There was even more to chat about when Andy got engaged, from wedding planning to all the ways husbands and fiancés were maddening, mysterious creatures, and Jill had been a supportive and loving matron of honor. Nothing could have put them in the same frame of mind faster than Andy's getting pregnant, she realized as she watched her sister pull on a pair of brown
equestrian
-style boots. For the last decade Jill's life had revolved around parenting her boys, something Andy understood intellectually but couldn't relate to in any real way. Now, about to become a mother herself, Andy could sense she and Jill were about to have more in common than at any other point in their lives, and she suddenly couldn't wait to share the experience with her sister.

It took everyone another twenty minutes to gather their shoes and coats and hug good-bye and say congratulations one last time. When the door finally closed, Andy thought she might collapse.

‘Tired?' Max asked, massaging her shoulders.

‘Yes. But happy.'

‘Everyone seemed legitimately pleased. And your grandmother was in rare form tonight.'

‘Not rare enough. But yes, they were all so happy.' She turned around to face Max, who was standing behind the couch. She made a conscious decision not to say anything about the Elias-Clark announcement. Max had worked so hard to plan the perfect evening, and he was obviously just excited for her. Andy forced herself to focus on the positive. ‘Thank you for tonight. It was really special getting to tell everyone together.'

‘You had a good time? Really?' Max asked with such hopefulness that it made her inexplicably sad.

‘Really.'

‘I did too. And they were all so thrilled with your
Plunge
news, too. I mean, how incredible. Barely three years out and already an offer from'

Andy held up her hand. ‘Let's talk about it another time, okay? I just want to enjoy tonight.'

Max moved forward to kiss her, pressing her body into the kitchen island with his own, and Andy felt a familiar jolt of excitement. It took her a moment to realize that for the first time since their wedding, she didn't feel exhausted or nauseated. Max nibbled her lower lip, gently at first, and then pressed into her with more urgency. She glanced at the husband-and-wife chef team, who were now tidying up the kitchen. Max followed her gaze.

‘Follow me,' he said gruffly, wrapping his hand around her wrist.

‘Don't you have to pay them?' she giggled, walk-running to keep up with Max as he led her to their bedroom. ‘Shouldn't we at least say good-bye?'

Max pulled her into the room and quietly shut the door behind them. Without another word, he undressed her and wrapped his arms around her. They fell, kissing, onto the bed together, Andy on top of Max. She pinned his hands by his ears, kissed his neck, and said, ‘I remember this.'

Max flipped Andy onto her back and lowered himself onto her. It all felt wonderful – the weight of his body against hers, the smell of his skin, the feel of his hands. They made love slowly, sweetly. When they were finished, Andy rested her head on Max's chest and listened as his breathing became regular and rhythmic. She heard Stanley bark as the chefs let themselves out, and she must have drifted off because when she next opened her eyes, she was shivering atop the covers and Stanley had wedged himself between her and Max.

Andy snuggled under the duvet and lay there ten minutes, fifteen. Sleep didn't come again, although she was so tired she felt like she could barely roll over. This, too, was a new
pregnancy
-induced misery: the bone-weary exhaustion coupled with inexplicable insomnia. Beside her, Max's breathing slowed and then evened out, his chest rising and falling with steady predictability. For as energetic and active as he was during the day, at night he slept soundly on his back, hands folded corpselike over his chest, rarely moving or readjusting. A 747 could have landed in their bedroom and he would have done little more than sigh, turn his head a few inches, and resume his strong, steady breathing. It was maddening on every level.

Climbing carefully out of bed, Andy pulled on her Mrs Harrison robe and the fluffy travel socks she'd purchased at the newsstand at JFK. She scooped a groaning Stanley into her arms and padded down the hallway toward the couch, where she collapsed in an ungraceful heap. Their DVR was disappointing: mostly old football games that Max had recorded but ended up watching online; a few NFL commentary shows; an ancient episode of
Private Practice
; a
60 Minutes
she'd already seen; a
Modern Family
that she'd promised Max they would watch together; and the final hour of the
Today
show's special wedding episode from two weeks earlier, when Andy and Emily had both checked out all the vendors and trends that Hoda and Kathie Lee discussed. Live TV wasn't much better: the usual late-night shows, some infomercials, a repeat of
Design Star
on HGTV. Andy was about to call it quits when something in the midnight slot caught her eye:
The High Priestess of Fashion: The Life and Times of Miranda Priestly.

Oh shit,
she thought to herself.
Do I have to?
Unlike everyone she knew, Emily included, Andy had refused to see it in the theater when it was out a year earlier. Who needed the flashbacks? The voice, the face, the constantly disappointed tone and reprimanding words. Andy could remember them all like they'd happened yesterday – why did she need to watch it in living color? Yet here, in the safety of her own living room, curiosity overtook her.
I have to.
Her thumb hesitated for only a moment before selecting the program. An angry-looking Miranda, adorned in a cream-colored Prada dress, gorgeous heels with a subtle gold buckle adornment, and of course, the ever-present Hermès bangle, glowered back at her.

‘I don't think this is the time nor the place,' her icy voice said to whatever poor soul held the camera.

‘Sorry, Miranda,' a disembodied voice replied before the screen went temporarily black.

And then, a second later, still in her office but now wearing a wool skirt suit, probably Chanel, with ankle booties. Appearing no more pleased than she had in the last scene.

‘Aliyah? Can you hear me?'

The camera swiveled to a tall and exceedingly thin girl, not a day over twenty-one, who wore shiny white leggings, ankle booties that were eerily similar to Miranda's, and a gorgeous cashmere vest over a silk, man-styled shirt. The girl's wavy hair was messy and tangled in that sexy, Giselle-like way Andy could never pull off, and her eyes were smudged with kohl. She looked as though Miranda had just interrupted her having sex right on the assistant desk in the anteroom – seductive, sultry, naughty. And of course, terrified.

‘Let everyone know that I'm ready for the run-through. It was scheduled for this afternoon, but I'll be leaving the office in twenty minutes. Make sure the car is waiting. Call Caroline's cell phone and remind her of her appointment this afternoon. What happened to that tote bag you were having fixed? I'll need it by three o'clock. As well as the dress I wore to the New York Public Library event last year or the year before. Or perhaps it was the pediatric AIDS dinner? Or that party in that dreary loft space on Varick after the fall shows last year? I can't recall, but you know the one I mean. Have that at my place by five, with the right sandals. And some earring options. Make a reservation for tonight, early dinner, at Nobu, and tomorrow, breakfast, at the Four Seasons. Make sure they have an adequate supply this time of pink grapefruit juice, not just the white, which is vile. Tell Nigel to meet me at James Holt's studio this afternoon at two; cancel my hair appointment but confirm the manicure and pedicure.' Here, she stopped for just a moment to catch her breath. ‘And I'll need the Book tonight after eleven but before midnight. Do not, I repeat, do not leave it with the idiot doorman, and do not bring it into my apartment unless I'm there. We have …
houseguests
staying with us this evening, and they aren't to be trusted with it. That's all.'

The girl nodded in a way that didn't inspire confidence. Andy could tell instantly she was new and hours, if not minutes, from being fired. She had no pen or paper, no ability to remember all the requests or ferret out all the answers. Andy's own mind was reflexively firing questions.
Which ‘everyone' exactly needs to know about the run-through? Where's the driver right now and can he get back there on time? Where is she going? What appointment does Caroline have this afternoon, and does she already know about it? Which tote bag? Will it be ready by three o'clock and if so, how do I get it to the office? Will she even be at the office, or will she already be at home? Which dress? I know for a fact she wore different dresses to each of those events, so how on earth do I know which one she means? Did she give me any color/cut/designer clues to narrow it down? Which sandals? Is there an accessories editor in right now and can she get earrings on time? What kind will look best with the mystery dress? What time exactly should I make the Nobu reservation? Tribeca or Fifty-Seventh Street location? And breakfast at the Four Seasons? Seven? Eight? Ten o'clock? Remember to send the general manager a thank-you gift for accommodating the grapefruit juice request. Find Nigel, relay blessedly specific information, and follow up on all grooming appointments. Preemptively make suite reservations at the Peninsula for when Miranda inevitably calls me in the middle of the night complaining about her houseguests (friends of her husband's, no doubt) and demands an immediate escape. Warn driver of probable late-night transport from Miranda's apartment to hotel. Stock hotel suite with Pellegrino, the Book, and an appropriate workday outfit for tomorrow, including all accessories, shoes, and toiletries. Plan to sleep not one wink as you see Miranda through this trying time. Repeat.