particularly　ridiculous。　I　have　to　run。　Caroline　just　smashed　one　of
  Miranda’s　Stila　lipsticks　into　the　bathroom　mirror　for　no　apparent
  reason。”
  “Our　lives　rock；　don’t　they？　We’re　the　coolest　girls。　Anyway；　thanks
  for　the　heads　up。　Talk　to　you　later。”
  “OK；　’bye。”
  I　glanced　over　the　memo　while　I　waited　for　B…DAD’s　arrival。　It　was　a
  request　to　the　board　of　trustees　of　the　Metropolitan　Museum　of　Art
  from　Miranda。　She　was　asking　permission　to　throw　a　dinner　party　in
  one　of　the　galleries　in　March　for　her　brother…in…law；　a　man　I　could
  tell　she　absolutely　despised　but　who　was；　unfortunately；　family。
  Jack　Tomlinson　was　B…DAD’s　younger　and　wilder　brother；　and　he’d　just
  announced　he　was　leaving　his　wife　and　three　children　and　marrying
  his　masseuse。　Although　he　and　B…DAD　were　both　quintessential　East
  Coast　prep　school　aristocracy；　Jack　had　shed　his　Harvard　persona　in
  his　late　twenties　and　moved　to　South　Carolina；　where　he’d
  immediately　made　a　fortune　in　real　estate。　Judging　from　everything
  Emily　had　told　me；　he’d　morphed　into　a　first…class　Southern　boy；　a
  real　straw…chewin’；　tobacco…spittin’　hick；　which　of　course　appalled
  Miranda；　the　epitome　of　class　and　sophistication。　B…DAD　had　asked
  Miranda　to　organize　an　engagement　party　for　his　baby　brother；　and
  Miranda；　blinded　by　love；　had　no　choice　but　to　oblige。　And　if　she
  had　to　do　something；　then　she　sure　as　hell　was　going　to　do　it　right。
  And　right　was　at　the　Met。
  Dear　Honored　Members；　blah；　blah；　blah；　would　like　to　request
  permission　to　host　a　fabulous　little　soiree；　blah；　blah；　blah；　will
  be　hiring　only　the　finest　caterers；　florists；　and　band；　of　course；
  blah；　blah；　blah；　would　wele　your　input；　blah；　blah。　Making　sure
  one　last　time　that　there　were　no　glaring　errors；　I　quickly　forged
  her　name　and　called　for　a　messenger　to　e　pick　it　up。
  The　knock　on　the　office　suite　door—which　I　kept　closed　this　early　in
  the　morning　since　no　one　was　in　yet　anyway—came　almost　immediately；
  and　I　was　impressed　with　their　turnaround　time；　but　the　door　swung
  open　to　reveal　B…DAD；　who　was　sporting　a　grin　much　too　enthusiastic
  for　pre…eightA。M　。
  “Andrea；”　he　sang；　immediately　walking　over　to　my　desk　and　smiling
  so　genuinely　it　made　me　feel　guilty　for　not　liking　him。
  “Good　morning；　Mr。　Tomlinson。　What　brings　you　here　so　early？”　I
  asked。　“I’m　sorry　to　tell　you　that　Miranda’s　not　in　yet。”
  He　chuckled；　his　nose　twitching　like　a　rodent’s。　“Yes；　yes；　she
  won’t　be　in　until　after　lunch；　or　so　I　believe。　Andy；　it　really　has
  been　too　long　since　you　and　I　caught　up。　Tell　Mr。　T。　now：　How　is
  everything？”
  “Here；　let　me　take　those；”　I　said；　pulling　the　monogrammed　duffel
  full　of　Miranda’s　dirty　clothes　that　she’d　given　him　to　give　to　me。
  I　also　relieved　him　of　the　beaded　Fendi　tote　bag　that　had　surfaced
  again　recently。　It　was　a　one…of…a…kind　tote　that　had　been
  hand…beaded　in　an　elaborate　crystal　design　just　for　Miranda　from
  Silvia　Venturini　Fendi；　as　a　thank…you　for　all　of　her　support；　and
  one　of　the　fashion　assistants　had　put　its　value　at　just　under　ten
  grand。　But　I　noticed　today　that　one　of　the　skinny　leather　handles
  had　broken　loose　yet　again；　even　though　the　accessories　department
  had　returned　it　to　Fendi　for　hand…stitching　two　dozen　times　already。
  It　was　intended　to　hold　a　delicate　ladies’　wallet；　perhaps
  acpanied　by　a　pair　of　sunglasses　or　maybe；　if　absolutely
  necessary；　a　small　Cell　Phone。　Miranda　didn’t　really　care　about
  that。　She　had　currently　crammed　in　an　extra…large　bottle　of　Bulgari
  perfume；　a　sandal　with　a　broken　heel　that　I　was　probably　supposed　to
  get　fixed；　the　blotter…size　Hermès　daily　planner　that　weighed　more
  than　an　entire　laptop；　an　oversize　spiked　dog　collar　that　I　thought
  either　belonged　to　Madelaine　or　was　for　an　uping　fashion　shoot；
  and　the　Book　I　had　delivered　to　her　the　night　before。　I　would　have
  hocked　a　bag　worth　ten　thousand　dollars　and　paid　my　rent　for　a　year；
  but　Miranda　preferred　to　use　it　as　a　trash　receptacle。
  “Thank　you；　Andy。　You　really　are　a　big　help　to　everyone。　So　Mr。　T。
  would　sure　like　to　hear　more　about　your　life。　What’s　going　on？”
  What’s　going　on？What’s　going　on？Hmm；　well；　let’s　see　here。　Really
  not　all　that　much；　I　suppose。　I　spend　most　of　my　time　trying　to
  survive　my　term　of　indentured　servitude　with　your　sadistic　wife。　If
  there　are　ever　any　free　minutes　during　the　workday　when　she’s　not
  making　some　belittling　demand；　then　I’m　trying　to　block　out　the
  brainwash　drivel　that’s　spoon…fed　to　me　by　her　assistant　in　chief。
  On　the　increasingly　rare　occasions　that　I　find　myself　outside　the
  confines　of　this　magazine；　I’m　usually　trying　to　convince　myself
  that　it　really　is　OK　to　eat　more　than　eight　hundred　calories　a　day
  and　that　being　a　size　six　does　not　put　me　in　the　plus…size　category。
  So　I　guess　the　short　answer　is；　not　much。
  “Well；　Mr。　Tomlinson；　not　too　much。　I　work　a　lot。　And　I　guess　when
  I’m　not　working　I　hang　out　with　my　best　friend；　or　my　boyfriend。　Try
  to　see　my　family。”I　used　to　read　a　lot；　I　wanted　to　say；but　I’m　too
  tired　now。　And　sports　have　always　been　a　pretty　big　part　of　my　life；
  but　there　wasn’t　time　anymore。
  “So；　you’re　twenty…five；　right？”　He　non…sequitured。　I　couldn’t　even
  imagine　where　he　was　going　with　this　one。
  “Uh；　no；　I’m　twenty…three。　I　only　graduated　last　May。”
  “Ah…hah！　Twenty…three；　huh？”　He　looked　like　he　was　trying　to　decide
  whether　to　say　something　or　not。　I　braced　myself。　“So　tell　Mr。　T。；
  what　do　twenty…three…year…olds　do　in　this　city　for　fun？　Restaurants？
  Clubs？　That　sort　of　thing？”　He　smiled　again；　and　I　wondered　if　he
  really　needed　the　attention　as　much　as　he　appeared　to：　there　was
  nothing　sinister　behind　his　interest；　just　a　seemingly　driving　need
  totalk　。
  “Um；　well；　all　sorts　of　things；　I　guess。　I　don’t　really　go　to　clubs；
  but　bars　and　lounges　and　places　like　that。　Go　out　for　dinner；　see
  movies。”
  “Well；　that　sounds　like　a　lot　of　fun。　Used　to　do　that　kind　of　stuff；
  too；　when　I　was　your　age。　Now　it’s　just　a　lot　of　work　events　and
  fund…raisers。　Enjoy　it　while　you　can；　Andy。”　He　winked　like　a　dorky
  father　would。
  “Yeah；　well；　I’m　trying；”　I　managed。Please　leave；　please　leave；
  please　leave；　I　willed；　staring　longingly　at　the　bagel　that　was　just
  calling　my　name。　I　get　three　minutes　of　peace　and　quiet　a　day；　and
  this　man　was　stealing　all　of　it。
  He　opened　his　mouth　to　say　something；　but　the　doors　swung　open　and
  Emily　stomped　in。　She　was　wearing　her　headphones　and　moving　to　the
  music。　I　watched　her　mouth　drop　open　when　she　saw　him　standing
  there。
  “Mr。　Tomlinson！”　she　exclaimed；　yanking　off　her　headphones　and
  tossing　her　iPod　in　her　Gucci　tote。　“Is　everything　OK？　Nothing’s
  wrong　with　Miranda；　is　it？”　She　looked　and　sounded　genuinely
  concerned。　An　A…plus　performance：　always　the　perfectly　attentive；
  unfailingly　polite　assistant。
  “Hello　there；　Emily。　Nothing　wrong　at　all。　Miranda　will　be　here
  shortly。　Mr。　T。　just　came　by　to　drop　off　her　things。　How　are　you
  doing　today？”
  Emily　beamed。　I　wondered　if　she　actually　enjoyed　his　presence。　“Just
  fine。　Thanks　so　much　for　asking。　And　you？　Did　Andrea　help　you　with
  everything？”
  “Oh；　she　sure　did；”　he　said；　throwing　smile　number　6；000　in　my
  direction。　“I　wanted　to　go　over　a　few　things　about　my　brother’s
  engagement　party；　but　I　realize　that　it’s　probably　a　little　early
  for　that；　right？”
  For　a　moment　I　thought　he　meant　too　early　in　the　morning　and　I
  almost　shouted　“Yes！”　but　then　I　realized　that　he　meant　it　was　too
  early　in　the　planning　to　discuss　details。
  He　turned　back　to　Emily　and　said；　“You’ve　got　yourself　a　great
  junior　assistant　here；　don’t　you　think？”
  “Absolutely；”　Emily　managed　through　clenched　teeth。　“She’s　the
  best。”　She　grinned。
  I　grinned。
  Mr。　Tomlinson　grinned　with　extra　wattage；　and　I　wondered　if　he　had　a
  chemical　imbalance；　perhaps　hypomania。
  “Well；　Mr。　T。　had　better　be　on　his　way。　It’s　always　lovely　chatting
  with　you　girls。　Have　a　nice　morning；　both　of　you。　Good…bye　now。”
  “’Bye；　Mr。　Tomlinson！”　Emily　called　as　he　rounded　the　corner　in　the
  hallway　on　his　way　to　reception。
  “Why　were　you　so　rude　to　him？”　she　asked　as　she　pulled　the　flimsy
  leather　blazer　off；　only　to　reveal　a　flimsier　chiffon　scoop…neck
  that　was　laced　all　the　way　up　the　front　like　a　corset。
  “So　rude？　I　helped　him　unload　her　stuff　and　I　talked　to　him　before
  you　got　here。　How　is　that　rude？”
  “Well；　you　didn’t　say　good…bye；　for　one　thing。　And　you　have　that
  look　on　your　face。”
  “That　loo