Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (23 page)

‘Fab! That's just fabulous! We'll have it ready for you as soon as you get here,' he called with fresh excitement in his voice. ‘Can't wait! And give her my love, too, of course!'

‘Of course I will. See you soon.' It was exhausting to stroke his ego so enthusiastically, but he made my job so much easier it was well worth it. Every day that Miranda didn't have lunch out, I served her the same meal at her desk, and she leisurely ate it behind closed doors. I kept a supply of china plates in the bins above my desk for this purpose. Most were samples sent by designers whose new ‘home' lines had just come out, although some I just took directly from the dining room. It would have been too annoying to have to keep stock of things like gravy trays and steak knives and linen napkins, though, so Sebastian was always sure to provide those with the meal.

And once again I shrugged on my black wool coat and jammed my cigarettes and phone in the pocket and headed outside, into a late February day that seemed to get only grayer as it progressed. Although it was just a fifteen-minute walk to the restaurant on 49th and Third, I considered calling for a car but thought better of it when I felt the clean air in my lungs. I lit a cigarette and drew the smoke in; when I exhaled, I wasn't sure if it was smoke or cold air or irritation, but it felt damn good.

Dodging the aimlessly meandering tourists had become easier. I used to stare in disgust at pedestrians on cell phones, but given my hectic days, I'd become a walking talker. I pulled my cell out and called Alex's school where, according to my fuzzy recollection, he could possibly be eating his lunch in the faculty lounge at that moment.

It rang twice before I heard a high-pitched, pinched woman's voice answer.

‘Hello. You've reached PS 277 and this is Mrs Whitmore speaking. How may I help you?'

‘Is Alex Fineman there?'

‘And who may I ask is calling?'

‘This is Andrea Sachs, Alex's girlfriend.'

‘Ah, yes, Andrea! We've all heard so much about you.' Her words were so clipped she sounded as though she might choke any moment.

‘Oh, really? That's … uh, that's good. I've heard a lot about you too, of course. Alex says wonderful things about everyone at school.'

‘Well, isn't that nice. But seriously, Andrea, it sounds like you have quite some job there! How interesting it must be, working for such a talented woman. You're a lucky girl, indeed.'

Ah, yes. Mrs Whitmore. I am a lucky girl indeed. I'm so lucky, you have no idea. I can't tell you how lucky I felt when I was sent out just yesterday afternoon to purchase tampons for my boss, only to be told that I'd bought the wrong ones and asked why I do nothing right. And luck is probably the only way to explain why I get to sort another person's sweat- and food-stained clothing each morning before eight and arrange to have it cleaned. Oh, wait! I think what actually makes me luckiest of all is getting to talk to breeders all over the tristate area for three straight weeks in search of the perfect French bulldog puppy so two incredibly spoiled and unfriendly little girls can each have their own pet. Yes, that's it!

‘Oh, yes, well, it is a fantastic opportunity,' I said by rote. ‘A job a million girls would die for.'

‘You can say that again, dear! And guess what? Alex just walked in. I'll put him on.'

‘Hey, Andy, what's going on? How's your day going?'

‘Don't ask. I'm on my way to pick up Her lunch right now. How's your day?'

‘Good, so far. My class has music today right after lunch, so I actually have an hour and a half free, which is nice. And then we get to cover more phonics exercises!' he said, sounding just a little defeated. ‘Even though it seems like they're never going to learn how to actually read something.'

‘Well, have there been any slashings today?'

‘No.'

‘So, how much can you ask for? You've had a relatively pain-free, bloodless day. Enjoy it. Save the whole reading concept for tomorrow. So, guess what? Lily called this morning. She finally got evicted from her place in Harlem, so we're going to move in together. Fun, right?'

‘Hey, congratulations! Couldn't have been better timing for you. You guys will have a great time together. Come to think of it, it's a little scary. Dealing with Lily full-time … and Lily's guys … Promise we can stay at my place a lot?'

‘Of course. But you'll feel right at home – it'll be just like senior year all over again.'

‘Too bad she's losing that cheap apartment. Other than that, it's great news.'

‘Yeah, I'm psyched. Shanti and Kendra are fine, but I'm kind of done with the whole living-with-strangers thing.' I loved Indian food, but I did not love how the curry smell had seeped into everything I owned. ‘I'm going to see if Lil wants to meet for a drink tonight to celebrate. You up for it? We'll meet somewhere in the East Village so it's not too far for you.'

‘Yeah, sure, sounds great. I'm running to Larchmont to watch Joey tonight, but I'll be back in the city by eight. You won't even be out of work by then, so I'll meet Max and we can all meet up afterward. Hey, is Lily seeing anyone? Max could use a, well …'

‘A what?' I laughed. ‘Go on, say it. Do you think my friend is a whore? She's just free-spirited, is all. And is she seeing someone? What kind of question is that? Someone named Pink-Shirt Boy stayed over there last night. I don't think I know his real name.'

‘Whatever. Anyway, the bell just rang. Call me when you're done dropping off the Book.'

‘Will do. 'Bye.'

I was about to stash the phone when it rang again. The number wasn't familiar, though, and I answered it out of sheer relief that it wasn't Miranda or Emily.

‘Mir – er, hello?' I'd taken to automatically answering my cell and home phone ‘Miranda Priestly's office,' which was supremely embarrassing when it was anyone except my parents or Lily. Had to work on that.

‘Is this the lovely Andrea Sachs whom I inadvertently terrified at Marshall's party?' asked a somewhat hoarse and very sexy voice on the other end. Christian! I'd been almost relieved when he hadn't resurfaced anywhere after massaging my hand with his lips. But all the feelings of wanting to impress him with my wit and charm that first night came rushing back, and I quickly vowed to play it cool.

‘It is. And who may I ask is this? There were a number of men who terrified me that night for dozens of different and varied reasons.'
OK, so far, so good. Deep breath, be cool.

‘I didn't realize I had so much competition,' he said smoothly. ‘But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. How have you been, Andrea?'

‘Fine. Great, actually,' I lied quickly, remembering a
Cosmo
article I'd read that had exhorted me to ‘keep it light and airy and happy' when talking to a new guy because most ‘normal' guys didn't respond so well to hard-bitten cynicism. ‘Work is going really well. I'm loving my job, actually! It's been really interesting lately – a lot to learn, tons of stuff going on. Yeah, it's great. What about you?'
Don't talk about yourself too much, don't dominate the conversation, get him comfortable enough to chat about his favorite and most familiar topic: him.

‘You're a rather deft liar, Andrea. To an untrained ear that almost sounded believable, but you know what they say, don't you? You can't bullshit a bullshitter. Don't worry, though. I'll let you get away with it this time.' I opened my mouth to deny the accusation, but instead I just laughed. A perceptive one indeed. ‘Let me get right to the point here, because I'm about to get on a plane for D.C. and security doesn't look all too happy that I'm walking through a metal detector while talking on the phone. Do you have plans for Saturday night?'

I hated when people phrased their questions that way, asked if you had plans before they told you what they had in mind. Did his girlfriend need someone to run errands for her and he thought I fit the bill? Or maybe he needed someone to walk his dog while he gave yet another eight-hour-long interview to the
New York Times
? I was considering what noncommittal way I could answer that question when he said, ‘So, I have a reservation at Babbo this Saturday. Nine o'clock. A bunch of friends will be there, too, mostly magazine editors and pretty interesting people. An editor from
The Buzz
, and a couple writers from
The New Yorker
. Good crowd. You up for it?' At that exact moment, an ambulance roared past me with its siren wailing, lights flashing in a fruitless attempt to speed through the hopelessly gridlocked traffic. As usual, the drivers ignored the ambulance and it sat at the red light like all the other vehicles.

Had he just asked me out? Yes, I thought that's exactly what had just happened. He was asking me out! He was asking me out. Christian Collinsworth was asking me on a date – a Saturday-night date, to be specific, and to Babbo, where he just so happened to have a prime-time reservation with a group of smart, interesting people, people just like him. Never even mind the
New Yorker
writers! I racked my brain, trying to remember if I'd mentioned to him at the party that Babbo was the one restaurant I most wanted to try in New York, that I loved Italian and knew how much Miranda loved it and I was dying to go. I'd even thought about blowing a week's pay on a meal and had called to make a reservation for Alex and me, but they'd been booked solid for the next five months. I hadn't been asked on a date by anyone other than Alex in three years.

‘Um, Christian, golly, I'd love to,' I started, trying to forget immediately that I'd just said ‘golly.'
Golly!
Who said that? The scene where Baby proudly announces to Johnny that she'd carried a watermelon flashed to mind, but I pushed it back and willed myself to forge forward despite the humiliation. ‘I'd really love to' –
yes, you idiot, you just said that, try to make some progress here
– ‘but I just can't do it. I, um, I already have plans for Saturday.' A good response overall, I thought. I was shouting over the noise of the siren, but I thought I still sounded somewhat dignified. No need to be available for a date that was only two days away, and no real need to reveal existence of boyfriend … after all, it really wasn't any of his business. Right?

‘Do you really have plans, Andrea, or do you think your boyfriend would disapprove of you going out with another man?' He was fishing, I could tell.

‘Either way has nothing to do with you,' I said prissily, and I actually rolled my eyes at myself. I crossed Third Avenue without noticing that the light was against me and almost got mowed down by a minivan.

‘OK, well, I'll let you off this time. But I'll be asking again. And I think next time you'll say yes.'

‘Oh, really? What gives you that impression?' The confidence that had seemed so sexy before was now starting to sound a whole lot like arrogance. The only problem was that it made him sound even sexier.

‘Just a hunch, Andrea, just a hunch. And no need to worry that pretty little head of yours – or your boyfriend's – I was just extending a friendly invitation for a good meal and good company. Maybe he'd like to join us, Andrea? Your boyfriend. He must be a great guy, I'd really like to meet him.'

‘No!' I almost shouted, horrified at the thought of the two of them sitting across a table from each other, each so amazing in such radically different ways. I'd be ashamed for Christian to see Alex's wholesomeness, his do-gooder ways. To Christian, Alex would seem like a naïve hick. And I'd be even more ashamed for Alex to see, with his own eyes, all the ugly things I found so incredibly attractive about Christian: the style, the cockiness, a self-assuredness so rock-solid it seemed impossible to insult him.

‘No.' I laughed or, rather, forced a laugh, as I tried to make it sound casual. ‘I'm not so sure that's a good idea. Although I'm sure he'd just love to meet you, too.'

He laughed with me, but it had turned mocking, patronizing. ‘I was just kidding, Andrea. I'm sure your boyfriend's a really great guy, but I'm not particularly interested in meeting him.'

‘Well, of course. Sure. I mean, I knew what you—'

‘Listen, I've got to run. Why don't you give me a call if you change your mind … or your “plans,” OK? Offer's still open. Oh, and have a great day.' And before I could say another word, he'd hung up.

What the hell had just happened? I ran through it again: Hot Smart Writer had somehow found my cell number, called it, and fully asked me on a date for Saturday night to Hot Trendy Restaurant. I wasn't clear whether he knew ahead of time if I had a boyfriend or not, but he didn't appear particularly daunted by the information. The only thing I knew for sure was that I'd spent way too long chatting on the phone, a fact confirmed by a quick glance at my watch. It had been thirty-two minutes since I'd left the office, longer than the time it usually took me to get lunch and come back.

I stashed the phone and realized I had already made it to the restaurant. I pulled open the lumbering wooden door and stepped into the hushed, darkened dining room. Even though every table was filled with midtown bankers and lawyers gnawing on their favorite steaks, there was barely any noise at all, as if the plush carpeting and manly color scheme just absorbed all the sound.

‘Andrea!' I heard Sebastian cry from the hostess stand. He beelined toward me as though I might be holding the last of a life-saving medication. ‘We're just all so glad you're here!' Two young girls in crisp gray skirt suits nodded seriously behind him.

‘Oh, really? Why is that?' I could never help myself toying with Sebastian, just a little. He was such an unbelievable kiss-ass.

He leaned over conspiratorially, his excitement palpable. ‘Well, you know how the entire staff here at Smith and Wollensky feels about Ms Priestly, don't you?
Runway
is such a gorgeous magazine, what with all the beautiful shoots and stunning style and, of course, fascinating, literate articles. We all just adore it!'