panini　stand　that　actually　resembled　a　makeup　counter；　was　the
  single；　lone　soup　station。　Lone　because　the　soup　chef　was　the　only
  one　in　the　entire　dining　room　who　refused　to　make　a　single　one　of
  his　offerings　low　fat；　reduced　fat；　fat…free；　low　sodium；　or　low
  carb。　He　simply　refused。　As　a　result；　his　was　the　single　table　in
  the　entire　room　without　a　line；　and　I　sprinted　directly　toward　him
  every　day。　Since　it　appeared　that　I　was　the　only　one　in　the　entire
  pany　who　actually　bought　soup—and　I’d　only　been　there　a　week—the
  higher…ups　had　slashed　his　menu　to　a　solitary　soup　per　day。　I　prayed
  for　tomato　cheddar。　Instead；　he　ladled　out　a　giant　cup　of　New
  England　clam　chowder；　proudly　declaring　it　was　made　with　heavy
  cream。　Three　people　at　Greens　turned　to　stare。　The　only　obstacle
  left　was　dodging　the　crowds　around　the　chef’s　table；　where　a
  visiting　chef　in　full　whites　was　arranging　large　chunks　of　sashimi
  for　what　appeared　to　be　adoring　fans。　I　read　the　nametag　on　his
  starched　white　collar：　Nobu　Matsuhisa。　I　made　a　mental　note　to　look
  him　up　when　I　got　upstairs；　since　I　seemed　to　be　the　only　employee
  in　the　place　who　wasn’t　fawning　all　over　him。　Was　it　worse　to　have
  never　heard　of　Mr。　Matsuhisa　or　Miranda　Priestly？
  The　petite　cashier　looked　first　at　the　soup　and　then　at　my　hips　when
  she　rang　me　up。　Or　had　she？　I’d　already　grown　accustomed　to　being
  looked　up　and　down　every　time　I　went　anywhere；　and　I　could’ve　sworn
  she　was　looking　at　me　with　the　same　expression　I　would’ve　given　a
  five…hundred…pound　person　with　eight　Big　Macs　arrayed　in　from　of
  him：　the　eyes　raised　just　enough　as　if　to　ask；　“Do　youreally　need
  that？”　But　I　brushed　my　paranoia　aside　and　reminded　myself　that　the
  woman　was　simply　a　cashier　in　a　cafeteria；　not　a　Weight　Watchers
  counselor。　Or　a　fashion　editor。
  “So。　Not　many　people　buying　the　soup　these　days；”　she　said　quietly；
  punching　numbers　on　the　register。
  “Yeah；　I　guess　not　that　many　people　like　New　England　clam　chowder；”
  I　mumbled；　swiping　my　card　and　willing　her　hands　to　move　faster；
  faster。
  She　stopped　and　turned　her　narrowed　brown　eyes　directly　toward　mine。
  “No；　I　think　it’s　because　the　soup　chef　insists　on　making　these
  really　fattening　things—do　you　have　any　idea　how　many　calories　are
  in　that？　Do　you　have　any　idea　how　fattening　that　little　cup　of　soup
  is？　I’m　just　saying　is；　someone　could　put　on　ten　pounds　from　just
  looking　at　it—”And　you’re　not　one　who　could　afford　to　gain　ten
  pounds；　she　implied。
  Ouch。　As　if　it　hadn’t　been　hard　enough　convincing　myself　that　I　was
  a　normal　weight　for　a　normal　height　as　all　the　tall；　willowyRunway
  blondes　had　openly　examined　me；　now　thecashier　was—for　all　intents
  and　purposes—telling　me　I　was　fat？　I　snatched　my　takeout　bag　and
  pushed　past　the　people；　and　walked　into　the　bathroom　that　was
  conveniently　located　directly　outside　the　dining　room；　where　one
  could　purge　any　earlier　bingeing　problems。　And　even　though　I　knew
  that　the　mirror　would　reveal　nothing　more　or　less　than　it　had　that
  morning；　I　turned　to　face　it　head　on。　A　twisted；　angry　face　stared
  back　at　me。
  “What　the　hell　are　you　doing　here？”　Emily　all　but　shouted　at　my
  reflection。　I　whipped　around　in　time　to　see　her　hanging　her　leather
  blazer　through　the　handle　of　the　Gucci　logo　tote；　as　she　pushed　her
  sunglasses　on　top　of　her　head。　It　occurred　to　me　that　Emily　had
  meant　what　she’d　said　three　and　a　half　hours　before　quite　literally：
  she’d　gone　out　for　lunch。　As　in；　outside。　As　in；　left　me　all　alone
  for　three　straight　hours　with　no　warning；　practically　tethered　to　a
  phone　line　with　no　hopes　of　food　or　bathroom　breaks。　As　in；　none　of
  that　mattered　because　I　still　knew　I　was　wrong　to　leave　and　I　was
  about　to　get　screamed　at　for　it　by　someone　my　own　age。　Blessedly；
  the　door　swung　open　and　the　editor　in　chief　ofCoquette　strode　in。
  She　looked　us　both　up　and　down　as　Emily　grabbed　my　arm　and　steered
  me　out　of　the　bathroom　and　toward　the　elevator。　We　stood　like　that
  together；　her　clutching　my　arm　and　me　feeling　as　though　I’d　just　wet
  the　bed。　We　were　living　one　of　those　scenes　where　the　kidnapper　puts
  a　gun　to　a　woman’s　back　in　broad　daylight　and　quietly　threatens　her
  as　he　leads　her　to　his　basement　of　torture。
  “How　could　you　do　this　to　me？”　she　hissed　as　she　pushed　me
  throughRunway　’s　reception…area　doors　and　we　hurtled　together　back
  to　our　desks。　“As　the　senior　assistant；　I　am　responsible　for　what
  goes　on　in　our　office。　I　know　you’re　new；　but　I’ve　told　you　from　the
  very　first　day：　we　do　not　leave　Miranda　unattended。”
  “But　Miranda’s　not　here。”　It　came　out　as　a　squeak。
  “But　she　could’ve　called　while　you　were　gone　and　no　one　would’ve
  been　here　to　answer　the　goddamn　phone！”　she　screamed　as　she　slammed
  the　door　to　our　suite。　“Our　first　priority—our　only　priority—is
  Miranda　Priestly。　Period。　And　if　you　can’t　deal　with　that；　just
  remember　that　there　are　millions　of　girls　who　would　die　for　your
  job。　Now　check　your　voice　mail。　If　she　called；　we’re　dead。You’re
  dead。”
  I　wanted　to　crawl　inside　my　iMac　and　die。　How　could　I　have　screwed
  up　so　badly　during　my　very　first　week？　Miranda　wasn’t　even　in　the
  office　and　I’d　already　let　her　down。　So　what　if　I　was　hungry？　It
  could　wait。　There　were　genuinely　important　people　trying　to　get
  things　done　around　here；　people　who　depended　on　me；　and　I’d　let　them
  down。　I　dialed　my　mailbox。
  “Hi；　Andy；　it’s　me。”　Alex。　“Where　are　you？　I’ve　never　heard　you　not
  answer。　Can’t　wait　for　dinner　tonight—we’re　still　on；　right？
  Anywhere　you　want；　your　pick。　Call　me　when　you　get　this；　I’ll　be　in
  the　faculty　lounge　anytime　after　four。　Love　you。”　I　immediately　felt
  guilty；　because　I’d　already　decided　after　the　whole　lunch　debacle
  that　I’d　rather　reschedule。　My　first　week　had　been　so　crazy　that
  we’d　barely　seen　each　other；　and　we’d　made　a　special　plan　to　have
  dinner　that　night；　just　the　two　of　us。　But　I　knew　I　wouldn’t　be　any
  fun　if　I　fell　asleep　in　my　wine；　and　I　kind　of　wanted　a　night　to
  unwind　and　be　alone。　I’d　have　to　remember　to　call　and　see　if　we
  could　do　it　the　next　night。
  Emily　was　standing　over　me；　having　already　checked　her　own　voice
  mail。　From　her　relatively　calm　face；　I　guessed　that　Miranda　had　not
  left　her　any　death　threats。　I　shook　my　head　to　indicate　that　I
  hadn’t　gotten　one　from　her　yet。
  “Hi；　Andrea；　it’s　Cara。”　Miranda’s　nanny。　“So；　Miranda　called　here　a
  little　while　ago”—heart　stoppage—“and　said　she’s　tried　the　office
  and　no　one　was　picking　up。　I　figured　something　was　going　on　down
  there；　so　I　told　her　that　I’d　spoken　to　both　you　and　Emily　just　a
  minute　before；　but　don’t　worry　about　it。　She　wanted　aWomen’s　Wear
  Daily　faxed　to　her；　and　I　had　a　copy　right　here。　Already　confirmed
  that　she　got　it；　too；　so　don’t　stress。　Just　wanted　to　let　you　know。
  Anyway；　have　a　good　weekend。　I’ll　talk　to　you　later。　’Bye。”
  lifesaver。　The　girl　was　an　absolute　saint。　It　was　hard　to　believe
  I’d　only　known　her　a　week—and　not　even　in　person；　only　over　the
  phone—because　I　thought　I　was　in　love　with　her。　She　was　the　opposite
  of　Emily　in　every　regard：　calm；　grounded；　and　entirely
  fashion…oblivious。　She　recognized　Miranda’s　absurdity　but　didn’t
  begrudge　her　it；　she　had　that　rare；　charming　quality　of　being　able
  to　laugh　at　herself　and　everyone　else。
  “Nope；　not　her；”　I　told　Emily；　lying　sort　of　but　not　really；　smiling
  triumphantly。　“We’re　in　the　clear。”
  “You’rein　the　clear；　this　time；”　she　said　flatly。　“Just　remember
  that　we’re　in　this　together；　but　I　am　in　charge。　You’ll　cover　for　me
  if　I　want　to　go　out　to　lunch　once　in　a　while—I’m　entitled。　This　will
  never　happen　again；　right？”
  I　bit　back　the　urge　to　say　something　nasty。　“Right；”　I　said。
  “Right。”
  We’d　managed　to　finish　wrapping　the　rest　of　the　bottles　and　get　them
  all　to　the　messengers　by　seven　that　night；　and　Emily　didn’t　mention
  the　office…abandonment　issue　again。　I　finally　fell　into　a　taxi　（just
  this　one　time）　at　eight；　and　was　spread…eagle；　still　fully　dressed；
  on　top　of　my　covers　at　ten。　And　I　still　hadn’t　eaten　because　I
  couldn’t　bear　the　thought　of　going　out　in　search　of　food　and　getting
  lost　again；　as　I　had　the　past　four　nights；　in　my　own　neighborhood。　I
  called　Lily　to　plain　on　my　brand…new　Bang　and　Olufsen　phone。
  “Hi！　I　thought　you　and　Alex　had　a　date　tonight；”　she　said。
  “Yeah；　we　did；　but　I’m　dead。　He’s　fine　with　doing　it　tomorrow　night；
  and　I　think　I’ll　just　order。　Whatever。　How　was　your　day？”
  “I　have　one　word：　screwed　up。　OK；　so　that　was　two。　You’ll　nev