Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (230 page)

Andy took a deep breath, exhaled quietly through her mouth, and forced a return smile. ‘I know you will. Thank you.' She watched as Isla carried Clem to the nursery.

The sound of Barbara's voice brought her back to reality. ‘Andrea, dear? What is this?' her mother-in-law asked, holding aloft a small sheaf of papers.

Andy sat on the couch and grabbed her champagne glass, liquid courage. Barbara must have decided that the couch had a higher likelihood of being vermin-free, because she sat down next to Andy and crossed her legs. ‘Here, this. It says, “Miranda's Ultimate Baby List.” This isn't from Miranda
Priestly,
is it?'

It had been tacked to the bulletin board above her desk, a funny place for Barbara to snoop, but Andy didn't have enough fight in her to bring it up.

‘Ah yes, Miranda's list. She sent it to me right after Clementine was born. Miranda doesn't really like
people
per se, but apparently she has a soft spot for babies.'

‘Is that right?' Barbara murmured, glancing through the pages, her eyes alight. ‘My, my, it's quite comprehensive.'

‘That it is,' Andy said, glancing over Barbara's shoulder. She'd nearly fainted in shock when it first arrived a couple of weeks after Clem's birth, accompanied by a box wrapped in pink paper and festooned with white ribbons and a silver Tiffany baby rattle. Inside the box was a note on Miranda's letterhead that read, ‘Congratulations on your new addition!' Beneath that, under a half-dozen layers of tissue paper, nestled the most exquisite mink blanket Andy had ever seen. Or really, the
only
mink blanket she'd ever seen. It was silky-soft and enormous, and Andy immediately folded it and draped it across the foot of her own bed, where she snuggled with it almost every night. Clem had yet to puke or poop or drool on it, and as far as Andy was concerned, she never would. Mink! For a baby! Andy smiled to herself now and remembered what Emily had pointed out: clearly Miranda had chosen this gift all by herself, because no assistant would ever send a full-sized mink throw as a baby gift. For anyone. Ever. And if that hadn't been fabulous enough, there was also ‘Miranda's Ultimate Baby List.'

Twenty-two pages, single-spaced. A table of contents with subjects like ‘Items Needed for Hospital,' ‘Items Needed at Home: First Couple of Weeks,' ‘Baby Toiletries,' ‘Baby Medical Needs,' and ‘Safety Checklist.' Naturally, Miranda gave her recommendations for putting together the perfect layette (preferably from Jacadi, Bonpoint, and Ralph Lauren): short-sleeved onesies, long-sleeved onesies, footed pajamas, socks, booties, knit caps, hand mitts, pants-and-top outfits for boys, dresses or rompers with leggings for girls. Washcloths, towels, crib sheets. Swaddle blankets, stroller blankets, monogrammed nursery blankets. She even had a favorite brand of hair accessories. But it didn't stop there. There were Miranda's recommendations for pediatricians, lactation consultants, children's nutritionists, allergists, pediatric dentists, and doctors willing to make house calls. She listed all the resources one might need to put on a bris, a christening, or a baby-naming service: acceptable synagogues, churches, mohels, caterers, and florists. Decorators who specialized in nursery design. A contact at Tiffany who would place the baby's monogram on silver spoons, cups, and commemorative plates. A diamond specialist where Daddy could buy Mommy the perfect push present. And most important of all, a list of people to aid in the raising of said babies: night nurses, nannies, babysitters, tutors, speech therapists, occupational therapists, educational consultants, and at least a half-dozen agencies, all of which were chosen and vetted by Miranda herself for providing ‘the right kind' of caregivers.

Barbara finished reading the list and set it down on the table. ‘How considerate of Ms Priestly to share her list with you,' she said. She cocked her head to the side and peered at Andy. ‘She must really see something in you.'

‘Mmm,' Andy murmured, unwilling to shatter Barbara's newfound respect for her. Assistants had compiled and organized the list, Andy knew that, and the only flattering fact was that Miranda had directed her staff to send it to her. That, and the mink blanket, which Andy shamelessly showed to her mother-in-law.

‘Spectacular!' Barbara breathed as Andy placed it across the woman's knees. Barbara stroked it reverently. ‘What a unique and thoughtful baby gift. I'm sure Clementine simply adores it.'

Max emptied the last drops of champagne into Andy's glass. He refilled his and his mother's with Pellegrino. ‘Mother, you're welcome to stay, but Andy and I must have to go. The car's been waiting downstairs for twenty minutes, and we're now officially late.'

Barbara nodded. ‘I understand, dear. I just couldn't pass up an opportunity to see my granddaughter.'

Andy smiled magnanimously. ‘Clem enjoyed it too,' she lied. ‘You're welcome anytime.' She refrained from pointing out that Barbara hadn't so much as held her beloved granddaughter, nor even patted the baby's head. From everything she'd seen, her mother-in-law had admired Clem as she lay in the safety of her babysitter's arms, and for the first time, Andy understood a bit what it must have been like for Max to grow up with this woman as his mother.

She and Barbara stood; Andy gave her an obligatory kiss on the cheek and turned to find her clutch, but Barbara's hand closed over her own. ‘Andrea, I'd like to tell you something,' she said in her Park-Avenue-accented voice.

Andy panicked. Max was already halfway down the hallway, getting their coats. She couldn't remember the last time she had been alone with Barbara Harrison, and she was in no place to

Barbara's hands tightened over both of Andy's, and she felt herself being drawn closer to her mother-in-law. So close that she could smell her delicate perfume and see the deep indentations around her mouth, so ingrained that not even the latest and greatest fillers could tackle them. Andy held her breath.

‘Dear, I just wanted to tell you that, for whatever it's worth, I think you're a wonderful mother.'

Andy felt her mouth fall open. She couldn't have been more shocked if Barbara had confessed that she had a vicious meth
addiction
.

Was it merely because Miranda Priestly had deemed her an important-enough person with whom to share her list? Probably. But Andy didn't care. She didn't care because it was still nice to hear from the mother-in-law who thought Andy unworthy of her son, and it was nice to hear because Andy knew Barbara was right: she had flaws like anyone else, but she was a damn good mom.

‘Thanks, Barbara,' she said, squeezing her mother-in-law's hands. ‘That means a lot to me, especially coming from you.'

Mrs Harrison wrenched her hands away and brushed an imaginary hair from her eye. Moment over. But Andy smiled nonetheless.

‘Yes, well, I'd better be on my way,' Barbara sang. ‘I simply can't be late tonight. Everyone will be there.' She accepted Max's help putting on her coat and then held her cheek out for a kiss from her son.

‘Bye, Mom. Thanks for stopping by,' he said. His expression said he'd overheard their conversation.

Andy waited for the door to close behind Barbara. ‘Well, will wonders never cease?' Andy asked with a smile, wrapping a cashmere scarf around her shoulders. ‘She all but told me she loves me.'

Max laughed. ‘Let's not get carried away,' he said, but Andy could see he was pleased, too.

‘She loves me!' Andy cheered, laughing. ‘Mrs Barbara Harrison the almighty worships Andy Sachs, mother extraordinaire!'

Max kissed her. ‘She's right, you know.'

‘I know,' Andy said with a smile.

Isla joined them in the hallway. ‘I promise I'll take great care of her,' she said.

And before she could say another word or kiss her baby one final time, Max whisked her into the hallway, then the elevator, and finally into the backseat of a Lincoln Town Car that smelled like new leather and reminded her, as Town Cars always did, of her year at
Runway.

‘She's going to be fine,' Max said, squeezing her hand once again.

When they pulled up to Skylight West at Thirty-Sixth and Tenth Avenue, they joined a long line of chauffeured Town Cars. Drivers idled in some; attractive couples and friends in party attire climbed out of others. Andy swung open her door before they'd rolled to a stop.

‘Do you believe Emily pulled this together so quickly?' she asked Max under her breath as he helped her out. ‘Just having a party to celebrate our three-year birthday is a great idea, but getting Vera Wang and Laura Mercier to underwrite the whole thing was a stroke of brilliance.'

Max nodded. ‘It's great for publicity. Knowing Emily, she'll get all the boldfaced names here tonight, and you know who loves a party like that …'

Andy looked at him blankly. ‘Who?'

‘Elias-Clark! Events like this are right out of their playbook. Throw a splashy party, get a bunch of famous faces to show up, and get mentions of it plastered all over the gossip pages tomorrow. It does terrific things for the magazine's profile, and not just with readers. Emily knows that tonight will raise
The Plunge
's profile and make it even more desirable to Miranda.'

Max said this factually, the way a businessman familiar with the industry would, but it rankled Andy. While she'd certainly seen the benefits of an advertiser-funded fancy soiree in terms of publicity and profile, she hadn't considered how it would translate to their acquisition position. It was so Emily. It bothered her even more that Max didn't seem to understand why it bothered her.

They'd reached the elevator that would whisk them to the rooftop, but Andy pulled Max's hand and motioned for the other guests – all of whom looked fabulous but none of whom looked familiar – to go ahead without them.

‘You okay?' he asked.

Andy felt her throat tighten. Her phone buzzed and a text popped up on the screen. ‘Emily wants to know where we are,' she said.

‘Come on, let's go up and enjoy tonight, okay?' Max reached for Andy's hand, and she allowed herself to be pulled into the elevator.

A very young woman wearing a sexy red dress ducked into the elevator just before the doors closed. ‘Rooftop?' she asked.

‘For the
Plunge
party?' Max asked, and the girl grinned.

‘I wasn't even invited,' she said. ‘My boss was, but I begged her to let me come when she couldn't make it. This is
the
event to be at tonight.' The girl's face flashed recognition. ‘Wait, you're not Max Harrison, are you? Wow, it's so great to meet you.'

Max and the girl shook hands. She looked like she'd just met Ryan Gosling.

The elevator doors swung open and Max gave Andy a raised-eyebrow look and a mischievous smile. She made a mental note to find Emily immediately and report this juicy tidbit but forgot the instant she stepped onto the rooftop. It was magic, pure magic. The open-air space stretched for what seemed like miles in every direction with only the twinkling lights of the skyline creating a dramatic boundary between the party and the entire island of Manhattan. Straight ahead the Empire State Building shone blue and silver, cresting from behind the red neon
New Yorker
sign. To the right, the sun had just set over the Hudson, casting it in dramatic shadows of deep purple and orange, the lights of New Jersey gleaming behind it. In every direction she looked, lights were turning off in office buildings and shops, and turning on in apartments and bars and restaurants as the entire city made its daily transition from work to relaxation; the cacophony below – the usual mix of sirens, taxi horns, music, and people, so many people – rose from the street. The city was alive and humming on a warm night in early October, and Andy thought there was no better place on earth.

‘Do you fucking believe this?' Emily materialized out of nowhere and grabbed Andy's arm. Her criminally gorgeous figure was swathed in a neon-pink Hervé bandage dress, and her hair cascaded in perfect red waves over her bare shoulders. ‘How insane does this place look?'

It was hardly surprising that Emily didn't ask about Clementine or inquire how Andy was doing. Emily had visited when Andy got home from the hospital and brought Clementine an outrageously expensive and hugely impractical cashmere gown, hat, and mitten set (in June), but she'd been pretty much absent since then. The girls held conference calls with various staffers to discuss work, and they e-mailed multiple times a day, but a noticeable coolness had settled over their friendship. Andy wasn't sure if it was the baby or her refusal to discuss the Elias-Clark offer, or if Andy was just being hypersensitive, but it felt like something between them had changed.

Max motioned that he was heading to the bar and would return in a minute.

Andy turned to Emily and tried joking. ‘Did you have that dress shortened and taken in? Was the corsetlike wrapping just not tight enough for you?' she asked.

Emily pulled back for a moment and looked down at her belly. ‘Is it too tight? Am I having mirror delusion? Because I thought it looked good!'

Andy cuffed her on the arm. ‘Shut up, you look amazing and that's nothing but jealousy talking from the whale wearing the shower curtain.'

‘Really? Good. I thought so too, but you never know.' She waved her arms. ‘You're looking better too.'

‘How generous. Thanks.'

‘No, really, it's true. Your boobs are, like, almost normal sized and I love the Chloé shoes.' Emily motioned toward the crowd. ‘Do you believe this place?'

Andy spun slowly around and took in the rooftop. Cast-iron fire pits boasted dancing flames. Miniature white string lights crisscrossed overhead. Beautiful people milled everywhere, laughing and sipping the specialty drink, a heavenly muddled mix of Patrón, simple syrup, cilantro, and lemon juice. They moved effortlessly between the dimly lit bar and the low, white leather couches and acrylic coffee tables that had been arranged in living-room-like configurations. Groups stood along the railings, admiring the endless views in every direction.