and　the　slush　and　the　rain　to　get　her　Coffee　five；　six；　seven　times
  in　a　single　day。　I　was　so　tired　I　could　barely　move—I　know　what　it’s
  like！　Sometimes　she’d　call　me　to　ask　where　something　was—her　latte；
  her　lunch；　some　special；　sensitive…teeth　toothpaste　I’d　been　sent　to
  find—it　was　forting　to　discover　that　at　least　her　teeth　had　a　bit
  of　sensitivity—and　I　hadn’t　even　left　the　building　yet。　Hadn’t　even
  gotten　outside！　That’s　just　her；　Andy。　That’s　just　how　it　is。　You
  can’t　fight　it　anymore；　or　you’ll　never　survive。　She　doesn’t　mean
  any　harm　by　it；　she　really　doesn’t。　That’s　just　the　way　she　is。”
  I　nodded　and　I　understood；　but　I　just　couldn’t　accept　that。　I　hadn’t
  worked　anywhere　else；　but　I　just　couldn’t　believe　that　all　bosses
  everywhere　acted　like　this。　But　maybe　they　did？
  I　carried　the　lunch　bag　over　to　my　desk　and　began　the　preparations
  for　serving　her。　One　by　one；　I　used　my　bare　hands　to　pluck　the　food
  from　its　heat…sealed　to…go　containers　and　arrange　it　（stylishly；　I
  hoped）　on　one　of　the　china　plates　from　the　overhead　bin。　Slowing
  only　to　wipe　my　now　greasy　hands　on　a　pair　of　her　dirty　Versace
  pants　I　hadn’t　yet　sent　to　the　cleaners；　I　placed　the　plate　on　the
  teak　and　tile　serving　tray　that　resided　under　my　desk。　Next　to　it
  went　the　gravy　boat　full　of　butter；　the　salt；　and　the　silverware
  wrapped　in　a　linen…pleated　skirt…no…longer。　A　quick　survey　of　my
  artistry　revealed　a　missing　Pellegrino。　Better　hurry—she’d　be　back
  any　minute！　I　dashed　to　one　of　the　minikitchens　and　palmed　a　fistful
  of　ice　cubes；　blowing　on　them　to　keep　them　from　freezer…burning　my
  hands。　Blowing　was　only　one　itsy；　bitsy；　teensy　step　from　licking
  them—do　I　do　it？　No！　Be　above　it；　rise　above　it。　Do　not　spit　in　her
  food　or　gum　her　ice　cubes。　You’re　a　bigger　person　than　that！
  Her　office　was　still　empty　by　the　time　I　made　it　back；　and　the　only
  thing　left　to　do　was　pour　the　bottled　water　and　place　the　whole
  orchestrated　tray　on　her　desk。　She’d　e　back　and　perch　at　her
  mammoth　desk　and　call　out　for　someone　to　close　her　doors。　And　this
  would　be　one　time　I’d　jump　up　happily；　enthusiastically；　because　it
  meant　not　only　that　she’d　sit　quietly　behind　those　closed　doors　for
  a　good　half　hour；　on　the　phone　with　B…DAD；　but　also　that　it　was　time
  for　us　to　eat　as　well。　One　of　us　could　race　down　to　the　dining　room
  and　grab　the　very　first　thing　she　saw　and　race　back　so　the　other
  could　go。　We　would　try　to　hide　our　food　under　our　desks　and　behind
  our　puter　screens　just　in　case　she　came　out　unexpectedly。　If
  there　was　a　single　unspoken　but　still　irrefutable　rule；　it　was　that
  members　of　theRunway　staff　do　not　eat　in　front　of　Miranda　Priestly。
  Period。
  My　watch　said　it　was　quarter　after　two。　My　stomach　said　it　was　late
  evening。　It　had　been　seven　hours　since　I’d　shoved　a　chocolate　scone
  down　my　throat　on　the　walk　back　to　the　office　from　Starbucks；　and　I
  was　so　hungry　I　considered　gnawing　on　her　ribeye。
  “Em；　I　might　pass　out；　I’m　so　hungry。　I　think　I’m　going　to　run　down
  and　pick　something　up。　Can　I　get　you　something？”
  “Are　you　crazy？　You　haven’t　served　her　lunch　yet。　She’ll　be　back　any
  minute。”
  “I’m　serious。　I　really　don’t　feel　well。　I　don’t　think　I　can　wait。”
  The　sleep　deprivation　and　the　low　blood　sugar　were　bining　to　make
  me　dizzy。　I　wasn’t　sure　I’d　be　able　to　carry　the　steak　tray　into　her
  office　even　if　she　did　e　back　sometime　soon。
  “Andrea；　be　rational！　What　if　you　run　into　her　in　the　elevator　or　in
  reception？　She’d　know　that　you　left　the　office。　She’d　freak！　It’s
  not　worth　the　risk。　Hold　on　a　sec—I’ll　get　you　something。”　She
  grabbed　her　change　purse　and　headed　out　of　the　office。　Not　four
  seconds　later；　I　saw　Miranda　making　her　way　down　the　hall　toward　me。
  Any　thoughts　of　dizziness　or　hunger　or　exhaustion　disappeared　the
  moment　I　spotted　her　tight；　frowning　face；　and　I　flew　out　of　my　seat
  to　put　the　tray　on　her　desk　before　she　reached　it　herself。
  I　landed　in　my　seat；　head　spinning；　mouth　dry；　and　totally
  disoriented；　just　before　her　first　Jimmy　Choo　crossed　the　threshold。
  She　didn’t　so　much　as　glance　in　my　direction　or；　thankfully；　seem　to
  notice　that　the　real　Emily　wasn’t　at　her　desk。　I　had　a　feeling　that
  the　meeting　she’d　just　had　with　Mr。　Ravitz　hadn’t　gone　so　well；
  although　it　could　have　just　been　her　lingering　resentment　at　having
  to　leave　her　office　to　go　see　someone　else　in　theirs。　Mr。　Ravitz
  was；　so　far；　the　only　person　in　the　entire　building　whom　Miranda
  rushed　to　acmodate。
  “Ahn…dre…ah！　What　is　this？　Please　tell　me；　what　on　earth　is　this？”
  I　raced　into　her　office　and　stood　before　her　desk；　where　we　both
  looked　down　at　what　was；　quite　obviously；　the　same　lunch　she　ate
  whenever　she　didn’t　go　out。　A　quick　mental　checklist　revealed　that
  nothing　was　missing　or　out　of　place　or　on　the　wrong　side　or　cooked
  incorrectly。　What　was　her　problem？
  “Um；　it’s；　uh；　well；　it’s　your　lunch；”　I　said　quietly；　making　a
  genuine　effort　not　to　sound　sarcastic；　which　was　difficult；
  considering　my　statement　was　supremely　obvious。　“Is　something
  wrong？”
  In　all　fairness；　I　think　she　just　parted　her　lips；　but　to　my
  near…delirious　self；　it　looked　like　she　was　baring　actual　pointed
  fangs。
  “Is　something　wrong？”　she　mimicked　in　a　high…pitched　voice　that
  sounded　nothing　like　my　own；　nothing　human。　She　narrowed　her　eyes　to
  slits　and　leaned　closer；　still　refusing；　as　always；　to　raise　her
  voice。　“Yes；　there’s　something　wrong。　Something　very；　very　wrong。
  Why　do　I　have　to　e　back　to　my　office　to　findthis　sitting　on　my
  desk？”
  It　was　like　trying　to　solve　one　of　those　twisted　riddles。　Why　did
  she　have　to　e　back　to　her　desk　to　find　this　sitting　on　it；　I
  wondered。　Clearly；　the　fact　that　she　had　requested　it　an　hour
  earlier　was　not　the　correct　answer；　but　it　was　the　only　one　I　had。
  Did　she　not　like　the　tray　it　was　on？　No；　that　wasn’t　possible：　she’d
  seen　it　a　million　times　and　hadn’t　ever　plained　about　it。　Had
  they　accidentally　given　her　the　wrong　cut　of　meat？　No；　that　wasn’t
  it；　either。　The　restaurant　had　once　mistakenly　sent　me　off　with　a
  wonderful…looking　filet；　thinking　that　she　was　sure　to　enjoy　it　more
  than　the　tough　ribeye；　but　she’d　almost　had　a　full…fledged　heart
  attack。　She’d　made　me　call　the　chef　personally　and　scream　at　him
  over　the　phone　while　she　stood　over　me　and　told　me　what　to　say。
  “I’m　so　sorry；　miss；　really　I　am；”　he’d　said　softly；　sounding　like
  the　nicest　guy　in　the　world。　“I　really　just　thought　that　since　Ms。
  Priestly　is　such　a　good　customer　that　she’d　prefer　to　have　our　best。
  I　didn’t　charge　her　extra；　but　don’t　worry；　it　won’t　happen　again；　I
  promise。”　I　felt　like　crying　when　she　ordered　me　to　tell　him　that　he
  would　never　be　a　real　chef　anywhere　besides　some　second…rate　steak
  emporium；　but　I　had　done　it。　And　he　had　apologized　and　agreed；　and
  from　that　day　on　she’d　always　gotten　her　bloody　ribeye。　So　it　wasn’t
  that；　either。　I　had　no　idea　what　to　say　or　do。
  “Ahn…dre…ah。　Did　Mr。　Ravitz’s　assistant　not　tell　you　that　we　had
  lunch　together　in　that　wretched　dining　room　just　a　few　moments　ago？”
  she　asked　slowly；　as　though　she　were　trying　to　keep　herself　from
  losing　control　pletely。
  Shewhat？　After　all　of　that；　after　all　the　running　and　the　Sebastian
  ridiculousness；　and　the　angry　phone　calls；　and　the
  ninety…five…dollar　meal；　and　the　Tiffany　song；　and　the　food
  arranging；　and　the　dizziness；　and　the　waiting　to　eat　until　she　came
  back；　andshe’d　already　eaten？
  “Uh；　no；　we　didn’t　get　a　call　from　her　at　all。　So；　uh；　does　that
  mean　you　don’t　want　this？”　I　asked；　motioning　to　the　tray。
  She　looked　at　me　as　if　I　had　just　suggested　she　eat　one　of　the
  twins。　“What　do　you　think　that　means；　Emily？”　Shit！　She’d　been　doing
  so　well　with　my　name。
  “I　guess　that；　uh；　well；　that　you　don’t　want　it。”
  “That’s　very　perceptive　of　you；　Emily。　I’m　lucky　you’re　such　a　quick
  study。　Now　remove　it。　And　make　sure　this　does　not　happen　again。
  That’s　all。”
  A　quick　fantasy　flashed　forward；　one　in　which　I　would；　just　like　in
  the　movies；　sweep　my　arm　across　the　desk　and　send　the　whole　tray
  flying　across　the　room。　She　would　watch　and；　shocked　into
  contriteness；　apologize　profusely　for　speaking　to　me　like　that。　But
  the　clicking　of　her　nails　against　the　desk　brought　me　back　to
  reality；　and　I　quickly　picked　up　the　tray　and　carefully　walked　out
  of　her　office。
  “Ahn…dre…ah；　close　the　door！　I　need　a　moment！”　she　called。　I　guess
  that　having　a　gourmet　lunch　appear　on　her　desk　that　she　didn’t　feel
  like　eating　had　been　a　r