Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know (234 page)

‘I'm fine. What's going on?'

‘Where are you?'

‘What, are you keeping tabs on me?' Andy asked, suddenly unreasonably incensed.

‘No, I'm not keeping – yes, I guess I am. I left you over two hours ago, and your office tells me you haven't been in yet and haven't been answering your phone; yes, I guess you could say I got worried. So kill me.'

Andy softened. ‘Sorry. I was just running errands. I'm in a cab on my way to the office now.'

‘Errands for two hours? You never take cabs to work.'

Andy sighed as audibly as she could. ‘Max, I have a bit of a headache,' she said, feeling guilty for lying – about the headache, by omission about seeing Alex, about the errands – but she desperately wanted to hang up. Was this how Max had felt when he decided not to tell her about running into Katherine in Bermuda? That some things deserved to be left unsaid, especially when no one had technically committed any crimes: the way that person could still make your stomach drop; the feeling you got when he or she touched your arm or laughed at your joke. First loves were powerful and private, and they stayed with you a very long time. A lifetime. You could love your current partner more than anyone else on earth, but there would always be a small, intimate piece of your heart tucked away for the person you loved first. She felt it for Alex, and she suddenly understood that Max must have felt it for Katherine, too.

She softened. ‘What were you calling about, love?'

‘I just wanted to wish you luck! I know this is a big decision day.'

Elias-Clark. That's why Max had been checking up on her. Emily had probably called
him
to track her down. Once again they were teaming up. Andy took a deep breath to quell her
annoyance
.

‘Thank you, Max,' she said, and realized how formal and annoyed she sounded. Before he could reply, her call waiting beeped. ‘It's Emily calling for the thousandth time. I'll talk to you later, okay?' She clicked over without saying good-bye.

‘Hey,' she said.

‘Where the hell are you?' Emily screeched. ‘I've been calling you all morning.'

‘I'm fine, thanks, and you?'

‘Seriously, Andy. It's late, and you know we have lots to discuss. Where
are
you?'

The cab pulled up to the front of the building and Andy saw Emily, back to the street, sans coat, and wildly waving an unlit cigarette.

‘I'm here.'

‘Where?' Emily screamed to be heard over the din of nearby construction.

Andy paid the driver and got out of the cab. She could immediately hear Emily yelling through both the phone and across the sidewalk.

‘Are you going to smoke that, or are you just standing outside because you enjoy listening to that incessant jackhammer?'

Emily whipped around and upon seeing Andy, slammed her phone shut. She lit her cigarette, inhaled deeply, and sprinted to the curb. ‘Finally! I had Agatha clear my entire day. We've waited a long time to have this conversation, and we're going to give it the attention it deserves.'

‘Good morning to you too,' Andy said, feeling the cold dread return.

‘Where were you?' Emily demanded, punching the elevator button.

Andy smiled to herself. She wasn't going to share Alex with anyone. ‘Just some errands,' she said, her mind back at breakfast: the coffee, the conversation, the laughs. He'd left her mere minutes earlier, and already she missed him. It was a very bad sign indeed.

Andy stood at her kitchen counter, diluting Pedialyte with warm water, when her cell phone rang. ‘Agatha?' she asked, tucking the phone between her face and her shoulder. ‘Is everything okay?'

As usual, her assistant sounded weary and put upon from the moment she opened her mouth. ‘Emily called from Santa Barbara. I guess she had bad reception in the mountains or the valley or wherever she is, but she wanted me to give you the heads-up that Olive and Clint are fighting. The ceremony's already been pushed back by an hour, and Emily is worried they're going to call it off completely.'

‘No,' Andy whispered, pressing the phone to the side of her face so hard her cheek hurt.

‘I don't have any more details than that. She kept cutting out,' Agatha said with intense irritation, as though Andy had asked her two dozen questions. How horrible could the girl's day be with both her bosses gone and nothing to do but drink coffee and field a few phone calls?

She heard Clem begin to cry from the nursery.

‘Agatha? I've got to run. I'll call you back in a little.'

‘Do you know how long? Because it's already after five here and …'

How many times had she wanted to say that to Miranda, but instead she'd bitten her tongue and waited another hour, three, five? Miranda never felt guilty, though. Andy had regularly waited until ten, eleven o'clock at night, sometimes even midnight if the art department was running late with the Book. Now her own assistant was irritated at five P.M.?

‘Just sit tight, okay?' Andy hung up without further explanation, although she wanted to yell something about being stuck in her apartment with an infant who'd been puking around the clock for twenty-four hours, while her business partner was trying to feed them information from the communication blackout that was a celebrity wedding in the Santa Barbara foothills. It wouldn't kill the girl to sit at her desk and surf Facebook for another thirty minutes.

Andy gathered Clem into her arms and kissed her face and head. She felt warm but not too feverish. ‘You okay, sweet girl?' she murmured.

The baby wailed.

The landline rang somewhere in the distance. She wanted to ignore it, but on the off chance it was either Clem's pediatrician returning her call or Emily trying her home instead of her cell, she ran to find an extension.

‘Andy? Can you hear me?' Emily's voice screeched through the phone.

‘Loud and clear. You don't have to scream,' Andy said, wiping ineffectually at a puddle of vomit that clung to her shoulder.

‘Let's see if you're still saying that when I tell you that the wedding is off. Bam! Over! I'm sitting here at the Biltmore with no fewer than eight hundred wedding guests and there's not a bride in sight!' The volume of Emily's voice increased with every word.

‘What do you mean, no bride?'

‘She's already delayed the wedding twice. She's not here. No one's seen her!' Emily hissed.

Andy inhaled sharply. Not good. Very not good.

‘She's Olive Chase,' Andy said with more calmness than she felt. ‘She found the world's most perfect guy. Don't you think she's just running a little late?'

‘It's been two fucking hours, Andy! There were rumors circulating before, something about a fight last night that carried over to this morning. Nothing concrete. But then someone's husband caught a late puddle jumper from L.A. and claims he saw Olive, her mother, and her make-up artist waiting to board an American Airlines flight back to L.A. at the Santa Barbara Airport. It's over, Andy. They haven't officially called it yet, but I'm telling you she's gone and so is our entire issue.'

‘What do we do?' Andy whispered, unable to hide her panic.

‘I get the hell back to New York, and we rework everything. Those two country singers who met in Nashville – what are their names? Where he's so much hotter than she is? Their wedding from six weeks ago can take the cover, I'm not worried about that. It's all the editorial we had planned around Olive that is totally freaking me out right now.'

Andy thought of how every single article in the entire issue was somehow themed to coincide with Olive: how to choose wedding makeup that complements ‘mature' brides, where to honeymoon to escape prying eyes, city guides to both Santa Barbara and Louisville, including interviews with local shop owners, party planners, and hoteliers.

Andy moaned. ‘Oh, god. It's too much. We won't be able to do it.'

‘And don't even get me started on the advertising. I'd say sixty percent of this issue's advertisers bought space based solely on the Chase wedding. Maybe more. And at least half of those are first-time buyers we desperately need to retain.'

Andy heard a noise from the hallway, and then the front door slammed.

‘Hello? Who's there?' she called, trying to keep the panic from her voice. She wasn't expecting anyone, but she'd clearly heard the door open and close. Isla was off work to take the GREs, and Max had already left for the airport for an overnight business trip.

Andy heard footsteps in the hallway. She clutched Clem to her chest and pressed her mouth to the phone. ‘Emily, someone's here! Call 911! What do I'

‘Relax,' Emily said, sounding irritated. ‘It's your nanny. I told her to come in as soon as possible.'

‘Isla?' Andy asked, confused. ‘But she took a'

‘She can take the damn test another time, Andy. We need you in the office now!'

‘But how did you know'

‘Remember who you're talking to? If I can find Miuccia Prada while she dogsleds without cell reception in the Canadian Rockies on New Year's Day, I can sure as hell locate your damn nanny. Now get dressed and get to the office!'

The phone clicked, and despite herself, Andy smiled.

Isla appeared in the nursery. ‘Hey,' she said. ‘How's Clemmie feeling?'

‘I'm so sorry about all this!' Andy said. ‘I had no idea Emily was going to call you like that. She had no right to contact you without my permission and suggest that you come in today. I never would have'

Isla smiled. ‘It's fine, I totally understand. Plus with the extra two weeks' salary she said you'd pay me, it will help defray my school costs. So I really appreciate it.'

‘Oh, well you know Emily – always with the great ideas,' Andy said cheerily as she imagined all the ways she might kill her friend and enjoy it. She kissed Clem's cheek and handed her to Isla.

‘Her fever's down, but please check her again in another couple hours, and if it's above a hundred and one, call me. She can have as many bottles of breast milk as you can get her to eat, and some Pedialyte mixed with water, too. Just keep her drinking. I'll be back as soon as I can, but it may be late.'

Isla snuggled Clem and waved Andy off. ‘Emily told me you needed me to stay over tonight, so I brought a bag. Don't worry about a thing, I've got it covered.'

‘Of course she did,' Andy muttered. She desperately wanted to shower but knew she didn't have time. Instead, she swapped her puke-stained shirt for a clean one, threw her hair into a ponytail, and pulled on a pair of sneakers she would normally never have worn to work. She was out the door in under ten minutes. Her phone bleated the moment she fell into the backseat of a taxi.

‘Do you have me chipped or something? I just got in a cab.'

‘What took you so long?' Emily asked, her annoyance apparent.

‘Seriously, Em? Tone it down.' Andy said this as playfully as she could manage, but she didn't appreciate Emily's brusque,
Runway
-reminiscent tone.

‘I'm racing to get the last red-eye out of L.A., and I'll obviously come right from the airport tomorrow morning. I've already gotten in touch with everyone else; they're all on their way in, or will be soon. I told Agatha to order dinner for everyone. Chinese, because it's fast. It should be there in twenty minutes. Oh, and I also told her to hide all the decaf coffee pods. I want everyone drinking full caffeine tonight – it's going to be a long one.'

‘Wow. Would you like to tell us what time we all take bathroom breaks, or should we decide that for ourselves?'

Emily sighed. ‘Mock all you want, but you and I both know there's no choice. I'll call you back in five.'

Again she hung up without saying good-bye, another unwelcome remnant from the
Runway
days. Andy knew she had to be in the office all night, and that Emily had actually helped her by doing all the legwork, but she couldn't shake the old feeling of being bullied and ordered around by Miranda's ex-first assistant.

Andy paid the driver and made her way up to the office. An unhappy Agatha glanced up from her desk.

‘Sorry, Agatha, but tonight is'

The girl held up her hand. ‘I know. Emily already told me. I've ordered the food, started on the coffee, and called everyone in.' She stated this with such listlessness, such obvious misery, that Andy almost felt badly for her. But then she remembered her own sick child left home with a babysitter, the red-eye that Emily now faced, and the impossibly long night they all had ahead of them, and merely thanked her assistant and closed her door.

Andy worked without interruption for nearly two hours, reviewing the text for the two country singers, making notes about details that needed fleshing out or fact-checking. She was about to head to the art department to discuss the photography when Max called. She looked at the clock: eight P.M. He must have just landed in Boston.

‘I got your e-mail. Christ, it sounds like a nightmare,' he said.

‘It sure is. Where are you now?' Andy asked.

‘I'm still at the airport. Wait, my car's pulling up right now. I've got to meet the Kirby people downtown in thirty minutes.' Max greeted the driver and gave him some instructions and then said, ‘I just spoke to Isla. She said Clem doesn't have a fever, and she's getting her bottle ready right now.'

‘Did she nap well?'

‘I don't know, it was a quick call. Isla said something about staying over tonight?'

‘Yes, Emily arranged it. I'm going to be here all night.'

‘Emily arranged it?'

‘Don't ask.'

Max laughed. ‘Fair enough. So you want to tell me what happened? It sounds bad.'

‘I don't know much more than what I wrote you, just that Olive called off the wedding at the very last second. I really never saw this coming. Thankfully we have another couple we can plug in, but it screws up the issue in more ways than I can count.'