girls　a　new　nanny。　Here’s　the　number　of　the　agency　we　work　with；”
  she　said；　sending　it　to　me　in　an　e…mail。　“They　know　how
  discriminating　Miranda　is—and　rightfully　so；　of　course—so　they
  usually　give　us　good　people。”
  I　looked　at　her　warily　and　wondered　what　her　life　had　been　before
  Miranda　Priestly。　I　got　to　sleep　with　my　eyes　open　for　a　little
  while　longer　before　the　phone　rang　again。　Blessedly；　Emily　answered
  it。
  “Hello；　Miranda。　Yes；　yes；　I　can　hear　you。　No；　no　problem　at　all。
  Yes；　I　have　confirmed　hair　and　makeup　for　that　Thursday。　And　yes；
  Andrea　has　already　begun　looking　for　new　nannies。　We’ll　have　three
  solid　candidates　ready　for　you　to　interview　on　your　first　day　back。”
  She　cocked　her　head　to　the　side　and　touched　her　pen　to　her　lips。
  “Mmm；　yes。　Yes；　it’s　definitely　confirmed。　No；　it’s　not　ninety…nine
  percent；　it’s　one　hundred　percent。　Definitely。　Yes；　Miranda。　Yes；　I
  confirmed　it　myself；　and　I’m　quite　positive。　They’re　looking　forward
  to　it。　OK。　Have　a　nice　flight。　Yes；　it’s　confirmed。　I’ll　fax　it
  right　now。　OK。　Good…bye。”　She　hung　up　the　phone　and　appeared　to　be
  shaking。
  “Why　doesn’t　that　woman　understand？　I　told　her　the　hair　and　makeup
  were　confirmed。　And　then　I　told　her　again。　Why　did　I　have　to　tell
  her　fifty　more　times？　And　do　you　know　what　she　said？”
  I　shook　my　head。
  “Do　you　know　what　she　said？　She　said　that　since　this　has　all　been
  such　a　headache　for　her；　she’d　like　me　to　redo　the　itinerary　so　that
  it　will　reflect　that　hair　and　makeup　is　now　confirmed　and　fax　it　to
  the　Ritz　so　she’ll　have　the　correct　one　when　she　arrives。　I　do
  everything　for　that　woman—I　give　her　mylife　—and　this　is　how　she
  talks　to　me　in　return？”　She　looked　ready　to　cry。　I　was　thrilled　for
  the　rare　opportunity　to　see　Emily　turn　on　Miranda；　but　I　knew　that
  aRunway　Paranoid　Turnaround　was　imminent；　so　I　had　to　proceed　with
  caution。　Strike　just　the　right　note　of　sympathy　and　indifference。
  “It’s　not　you；　Em；　I　promise。　She　knows　how　hard　you　work—you’re　an
  amazing　assistant　to　her。　If　she　didn’t　think　you　did　a　great　job；
  she’d　have　gotten　rid　of　you　already。　She’s　not　exactly　scared　to　do
  it—you　know　what　I　mean？”
  Emily　had　stopped　tearing　and　was　approaching　the　defiant　zone
  where；　even　though　she　agreed　with　me；　she’d　defend　Miranda　if　I
  said　anything　too　outrageous。　I’d　learned　about　the　Stockholm
  Syndrome　in　psych；　in　which　the　victims　identify　with　their　captors；
  but　I　hadn’t　really　understood　how　it　all　played　out。　Maybe　I’d
  videotape　one　of　the　little　sessions　here　between　Emily　and　me　and
  send　it　to　the　prof　so　next　year’s　freshmen　could　actually　see　it
  happening　firsthand。　All　efforts　to　proceed　carefully　began　to　feel
  superhuman；　so　I　took　a　deep　breath　and　dove　right　in。
  “She’s　a　lunatic；　Emily；”　I　said　softly　and　slowly；　willing　her　to
  agree　with　me。　“It’s　not　you；　it’s　her。　She’s　an　empty；　shallow；
  bitter　woman　who　has　tons　and　tons　of　gorgeous　clothes　and　not　much
  else。”
  Emily’s　face　tightened　noticeably；　the　skin　on　her　neck　and　around
  her　cheeks　pulling　taut；　and　her　hands　stopped　shaking。　I　knew　she
  was　going　to　bulldoze　me　at　any　moment；　but　I　couldn’t　stop。
  “Have　you　ever　noticed　that　she　has　no　friends；　Emily？　Have　you？
  Sure；　her　phone　rings　day　and　night　with　the　world’s　coolest　people；
  but　they’re　not　calling　to　talk　about　their　kids　or　their　jobs　or
  their　marriages；　are　they？　They’re　calling　because　they　need
  something　from　her。　It　sure　seems　awesome　looking　in；　but　can　you
  imagine　if　the　only　reason　anyone　ever　called　you　was　because　they—”
  “Stop　it！”　she　screamed；　the　tears　streaming　down　her　face　again。
  “Just　fucking　shut　up　already！　You　march　into　this　office　and　think
  you　understand　everything。　Little　Miss　I’m　So　Sarcastic　and　So　Above
  All　This！　Well；　you　don’t　understand　anything。　Anything！”
  “Em—”
  “Don’t　‘Em；’　me；　Andy。　Let　me　finish。　I　know　Miranda　is　difficult。　I
  know　she　sometimes　seems　crazy。　I　know　what　it’s　like　to　never　sleep
  and　always　be　scared　she’s　calling　you　and　have　none　of　your　friends
  understand。　I　know　all　that！　But　if　you　hate　it　so　much；　if　you
  can’t　do　anything　but　plain　about　it　and　her　and　everyone　else
  all　the　time；　then　why　don’t　you　just　leave？　Because　your　attitude
  is　really　a　problem。　And　to　say　that　Miranda　is　a　lunatic；　well；　I
  think　there　are　many；　many　more　people　out　there　who　think　she’s
  gifted　and　gorgeous　and　talented　and　would　think　you’re　a　lunatic
  for　not　doing　your　best　to　help　out　someone　so　amazing。　Because　she
  is　amazing；　Andy—she　really　is！”
  I　considered　this　for　a　moment　and　decided　she　had　a　point。　Miranda
  was；　as　far　as　I　could　tell；　a　truly　fantastic　editor。　Not　a　single
  word　of　copy　made　it　into　the　magazine　without　her　explicit；
  hard…to…obtain　approval；　and　she　wasn’t　afraid　to　scrap　something
  and　start　over；　regardless　of　how　inconvenient　or　unhappy　it　made
  everyone　else。　Although　the　various　fashion　editors　called　in　the
  clothes　to　shoot；　Miranda　alone　selected　the　looks　she　wanted　and
  which　models　she　wanted　wearing　each　one；　the　sittings　editors　might
  be　the　ones　at　the　actual　shoots；　but　they　were　simply　executing
  Miranda’s　specific　and　incredibly　detailed　instructions。　She　had　the
  final—and　often　even　the　preliminary—say　over　every　single　bracelet；
  bag；　shoe；　outfit；　hair　style；　story；　interview；　writer；　photo；
  model；　location；　and　photograph　in　every　issue；　and　that　made　her；
  in　my　mind；　the　main　reason　for　the　magazine’s　stunning　success　each
  month。Runway　wouldn’t　beRunway　—hell；　it　wouldn’t　be　much　of
  anything　at　all—without　Miranda　Priestly。　I　knew　it　and　so　did
  everyone　else。　What　it　hadn’t　yet　done　was　convince　me　that　any　of
  this　gave　her　a　right　to　treat　people　the　way　she　did。　Why　was　the
  ability　to　put　together　a　Balmain　evening　gown　and　a　brooding；　leggy
  Asian　girl　on　a　side　street　in　San　Sebastian　worshiped　so　much　that
  Miranda　wasn’t　accountable　for　her　behavior？　I　still　wasn’t　building
  the　bridge；　but　what　the　hell　did　I　know？　Emily　obviously　got　it。
  “Emily；　all　I’m　saying　is　that　you’re　a　really　great　assistant　to
  her；　that　she’s　lucky　she　has　someone　who　works　as　hard　as　you　do；
  who’s　so　mitted　to　the　job。　I　just　wish　you’d　realize　that　it’s
  not　your　fault　if　she’s　unhappy　with　something。　She’s　just　an
  unhappy　person。　There’s　nothing　more　you　could　have　done。”
  “I　know　that。　I　really　do。　But　you　don’t　give　her　enough　credit；
  Andy。　Think　about　it。　I　mean；　really　think　about　it。　She　is　so
  incredibly　acplished；　and　she’s　had　to　sacrifice　a　lot　to　get
  there；　but　couldn’t　the　same　be　said　of　supersuccessful　people　in
  every　industry？　Tell　me；　how　many　CEOs　or　managing　partners　or　movie
  directors　or　whatever　don’t　have　to　be　tough　sometimes？　It’s　part　of
  the　job。”
  I　could　tell　we　weren’t　going　to　see　eye　to　eye　on　this　one。　It　was
  clear　that　Emily　was　deeply　invested　in　Miranda；　inRunway；　in　all　of
  it；　but　I　just　couldn’t　understand　why。　She　wasn’t　any　different
  from　the　hundreds　of　other　personal　assistants　and　editorial
  assistants　and　assistant　editors　and　associate　editors　and　senior
  editors　and　editors　in　chief　of　fashion　magazines。　But　I　just　didn’t
  understand　why。　From　everything　I’d　seen　so　far；　each　one　was
  humiliated；　degraded；　and　generally　abused　by　their　direct　superior；
  only　to　turn　around　and　do　it　to　those　under　them　the　second　they
  got　promoted。　And　all　of　it　so　they　could　say；　at　the　end　of　the
  long　and　exhausting　climb；　that　they’d　gotten　to　sit　in　the　front
  row　at　Yves　Saint…Laurent’s　couture　show　and　had　scored　a　few　free
  Prada　bags　along　the　way？
  Time　to　just　agree。　“I　know；”　I　sighed；　surrendering　to　her
  insistence。　“I　just　hope　you　know　that　you’re　doing　her　the　favor　by
  putting　up　with　her　shit；　not　the　other　way　around。”
  I　expected　a　quick　counter…attack；　but　Emily　grinned。　“You　know　how
  I　just　told　her　like　a　hundred　times　that　her　Thursday　hair　and
  makeup　were　confirmed？”
  I　nodded。　She　looked　positively　giddy。
  “I　was　totally　lying。　I　didn’t　call　a　single　person　or　confirm
  anything！”　She　practically　sang　the　last　part。
  “Emily！　Are　you　serious？　What　are　you　going　to　do　now？　You　just
  swore　up　and　down　that　you’d　personally　confirmed　it。”　For　the　first
  time　since　starting　work；　I　wanted　to　hug　the　girl。
  “Andy；　be　serious。　Do　you　honestly　think　that　any　sane　person　is
  going　to　say　no　to　doing　her　hair　and　makeup？　It　could　make　his
  whole　career—he’d　be　crazy　to　turn　her　down。　I’m　sure　the　guy　was