saying　to　know　that　she　was　barely　responding　at　the　appropriate
  time。　Social　graces　were　not　her　strength；　as　she　had　little
  tolerance　for　small　talk—but　I　knew　she’d　be　on　her　best　kiss…ass
  behavior　tonight。　I’d　e　to　realize　that　her　“friends”　all　fell
  into　one　of　two　categories。　There　were　those　she　perceived　as
  “above”　her　and　who　must　be　impressed。　This　list　was　short；　but　it
  generally　included　people　like　Irv　Ravitz；　Oscar　de　la　Renta；
  Hillary　Clinton；　and　any　first…rate；　A…list　movie　star。　Then　there
  were　those　“below”　her；　who　must　be　patronized　and　belittled　so　they
  don’t　forget　their　place；　which　included　basically　everyone　else：
  allRunway　employees；　all　family　members；　all　parents　of　her
  children’s　friends—unless　they　coincidentally　fell　into　category
  number　one—almost　all　designers　and　other　magazine　editors；　and
  every　single　solitary　person　in　the　service　industry；　both　here　and
  abroad。　Tonight　was　sure　to　be　amusing　because　these　were　category
  two　people　who　would　have　to　be　treated　like　category　ones；　merely
  because　of　their　association　with　Mr。　Tomlinson　and　his　brother。　I
  always　enjoyed　the　rare　occasions　when　I　got　to　watch　Miranda　try　to
  impress　those　around　her；　mostly　because　she　wasn’t　naturally
  charming。
  I　felt　the　first　guests　arrive　before　I　saw　them。　The　tension　in　the
  room　was　palpable。　Remembering　my　color　printouts；　I　rushed　over　to
  the　couple　and　offered　to　take　the　woman’s　fur　wrap。　“Mr。　and　Mrs。
  Wilkinson；　thank　you　so　much　for　joining　us　this　evening。　Please；
  I’ll　take　that。　And　Ilana　here　will　show　you　to　the　atrium；　where
  cocktails　are　being　served。”　I　hoped　I　wasn’t　staring　during　my
  monologue；　but　the　spectacle　was　truly　outrageous。　I’d　seen　women
  dressed　like　hookers　and　men　dressed　like　women　and　models　not
  dressed　at　all　at　Miranda’s　parties；　but　never　before　had　I　seen
  people　dressed　like　this。　I　knew　it　wasn’t　going　to　be　a　trendy　New
  York　crowd；　but　I　was　expecting　them　to　look　like　something　out
  ofDallas　；　instead；　they　looked　like　a　dressier　version　of　the　cast
  fromDeliverance　。
  Mr。　Tomlinson’s　brother；　himself　distinguished　looking　with　silver
  hair；　made　the　horrible　mistake　of　wearing　white　tails—in　May；　no
  less—with　a　plaid　handkerchief　and　a　cane。　His　fiancée　had　on　an
  emerald　green　taffeta　nightmare。　It　swirled　and　puffed　and　gathered
  and　forced　her　enormous　bust　up　and　over　the　top　of　the　dress　so
  that　it　appeared　her　own　silicon　breasts　might　actually　suffocate
  her。　Diamonds　the　size　of　Dixie　cups　hung　from　her　ears；　and　an　even
  larger　one　sparkled　from　her　left　hand。　Her　hair　was　bleached　white
  with　peroxide；　as　were　her　teeth；　and　her　heels　were　so　high　and　so
  skinny；　she　walked　as　if　she’d　been　a　running　back　in　the　NFL　for
  the　past　twelve　years。
  “Dah…lings；　I　amso　delighted　you　could　join　us　for　a　little　pah…ty！
  Everyone　loves　pahties；　now　don’t　they？”　Miranda　sang　in　a　falsetto
  voice。　The　soon…to…be　Mrs。　Tomlinson　looked　as　if　she’d　pass　out。
  Right　there　before　her　was　the　one　and　only　Miranda　Priestly！　Her
  glee　embarrassed　us　all；　and　the　whole　wretched　crowd　moved　into　the
  atrium　with　Miranda　leading　the　way。
  The　rest　of　the　night　went　on　much　like　the　beginning。　I　recognized
  all　the　guests’　names　and　managed　not　to　utter　anything　too
  humiliating。　The　parade　of　white　tuxes；　chiffon；　big　hair；　bigger
  jewels；　and　barely　postadolescent　women　ceased　to　amuse　me　as　the
  hours　wore　on；　but　I　never　grew　tired　of　watching　Miranda。　She　was
  the　true　lady　and　the　envy　of　every　woman　in　that　museum　that　night。
  And　even　though　they　understood　that　all　the　money　in　the　world
  could　never　buy　them　her　class　and　elegance；　they　never　stopped
  wanting　it。
  I　smiled　genuinely　when　she　dismissed　me　halfway　through　dinner；　as
  usual　without　a　thank…you　or　a　good…night。　（“Ahn…dre…ah；　we　won’t　be
  needing　you　anymore　this　evening。　See　yourself　out。”）　I　looked　for
  Ilana；　but　she　had　already　sneaked　out。　The　car　took　only　about　ten
  minutes　to　arrive　after　I　called　for　it—I　had　briefly　considered
  taking　the　subway；　but　wasn’t　sure　how　well　the　Oscar　or　my　feet
  would’ve　held　up—and　I　sunk；　exhausted　but　calm；　into　the　backseat。
  When　I　walked　past　John　on　my　way　to　the　elevator；　he　reached　under
  his　little　table　and　pulled　out　a　manila　envelope。　“Just　got　this　a
  few　minutes　ago。　It　says　‘Urgent。’　”　I　thanked　him　and　sat　down　in　a
  corner　of　the　lobby；　wondering　who　would　be　messengering　me
  something　at　ten　o’clock　on　a　Friday　night。　I　tore　it　open　and
  pulled　out　a　note：
  Dearest　Andrea；
  It　was　so　great　to　meet　you　tonight！　Can　we　please　get　together　next
  week　for　sushi　or　something？　I　dropped　this　off　on　my　way　Home—
  figured　you　could　use　the　pick…me…up　after　a　night　like　the　one　we
  just　had。　Enjoy。
  Xoxo；
  Ilana
  Inside　was　the　picture　of　Miranda　as　Snake；　only　Ilana　had　enlarged
  this　one　to　a　ten　by　thirteen　size。　I　looked　at　it　carefully　for　a
  few　minutes；　massaging　the　feet　I’d　finally　pulled　from　the　Manolos；
  and　looked　into　Miranda’s　eyes。　She　looked　intimidating　and　mean　and
  just　like　the　bitch　I　stared　at　every　day。　But　tonight　she’d　also
  looked　sad；　and　not　a　little　lonely。　Adding　this　picture　to　my
  fridge　and　making　fun　of　it　with　Lily　and　Alex　wasn’t　going　to　make
  my　feet　hurt　any　less；　or　give　me　back　my　Friday　night。　I　tore　it　up
  and　hobbled　upstairs。
  15
  “Andrea；　it’s　Emily；”　I　heard　a　voice　croak　from　the　phone。
  “Can　you　hear　me？”　It　had　been　months　since　Emily　had　called
  me　at　Home　late　at　night；　so　I　knew　it　had　to　be　serious。
  “Hi；　sure。　You　sound　like　hell；”　I　said；　bolting　upright　in
  bed；　immediately　wondering　if　Miranda　had　done　something　to
  make　her　sound　that　way。　The　last　time　Emily　had　called　this
  late　was　when　Miranda　had　called　her　at　eleven　on　a　Saturday
  night　to　demand　that　Emily　charter　her　and　Mr。　Tomlinson　a
  private　jet　to　get　Home　from　Miami　since　bad　weather　had
  canceled　their　regularly　scheduled　flight。　Emily　was　just
  getting　ready　to　leave　her　apartment　to　attend　her　own
  birthday　party　when　the　call　came　in；　and　she’d　immediately
  called　me　and　begged　me　to　deal　with　it。　I　hadn’t　gotten　the
  message　until　the　next　day；　though；　and　when　I　called　her
  back；　she　was　still　in　tears。
  “I　missed　my　own　birthday　party；　Andrea；”　she’d　wailed　the
  second　she　picked　up　the　phone。　“I　missed　my　own　birthday
  party　because　I　had　to　charter　them　a　flight！”
  “They　couldn’t　get　a　hotel　room　for　one　night　and　e　back
  the　next　day　like　normal　people？”　I’d　asked；　pointing　out　the
  obvious。
  “Don’t　you　think　I　thought　of　that？　I　had　penthouse　suites
  reserved　for　them　at　the　Shore　Club；　the　Albion；　and　the
  Delano　within　seven　minutes　of　her　first　phone　call；　figuring
  she　couldn’t　possibly　be　serious—I　mean；　my　god；　it　was　a
  Saturday　night。　How　the　hell　do　you　charter　a　flight　on　a
  Saturday　night？”
  “I’m　guessing　she　wasn’t　so　into　that　idea？”　I’d　asked
  soothingly；　feeling　genuinely　guilty　that　I　hadn’t　been　around
  to　help　her　out　and　simultaneously　ecstatic　that　I’d　dodged
  that　particular　bullet。
  “Yeah。　Not　so　into　it　at　all。　She　called　every　ten　minutes；
  demanding　to　know　why　I　hadn’t　found　her　anything　yet；　and　I
  had　to　keep　putting　these　people　on　hold　to　answer　her　call；
  and　when　I　went　back　to　them；　they’d　hang　up。”　She　gulped　air。
  “It　was　a　nightmare。”
  “So　what　finally　happened？　I’m　almost　scared　to　ask。”
  “What　finally　happened？　Whatdidn’t　finally　happen？　I　called
  every　single　private　charter　pany　in　the　state　of　Florida
  and；　as　you　might　imagine；　they　weren’t　answering　their　phones
  at　midnight　on　a　Saturday。　I　paged　individual　pilots；　I　called
  domestic　airlines　to　see　if　they　had　any　remendations；　I
  even　managed　to　talk　to　some　sort　of　supervisor　at　the　Miami
  International　Airport。　Told　him　I　needed　a　plane　in　the　next
  half　hour　to　fly　two　people　to　New　York。　Know　what　he　did？”
  “What？”
  “He　laughed。　Hysterically。　Accused　me　of　being　a　front　for
  terrorists；　for　drug　smugglers；　everything。　Told　me　I　had　a
  better　chance　of　getting　hit　by　lightning　exactly　twenty　times
  than　I　did　of　securing　a　plane　and　a　pilot　at　that
  hour—regardless　of　how　much　I　was　willing　to　pay。　And　that　if
  I　called　back　again；　he’d　be　forced　to　direct　my　inquiry　to
  the　FBI。　Do　you　believe　it？”　She　was　screaming　at　this　point。
  “Do　you　fucking　believe　it？　The　FBI！”
  “And　I　assume　Miranda　didn’t　like　that；　either？”
  “Yeah；　sheloooooved　that　one。　She　spent　twenty　minute