all　the　overflowing　racks　of　clothes　and　carts　full　of　shoes
  and　baskets　brimming　over　with　accessories　must　be　schlepped
  to　her。
  When　the　accessories　people　finally　managed　to　lay　out　their
  wares　in　neat　rows　on　the　carpet　for　her　to　inspect；　Miranda’s
  office　morphed　into　a　Bedouin　bazaar—one　that　just　so　happens
  to　look　more　Madison　Avenue　than　Sharm…el…Sheik。　One　editor
  was　presenting　her　with　2；000　snakeskin　belts　while　another
  tried　to　sell　her　a　large　Kelly　bag。　A　third　hawked　a　short
  Fendi　cocktail　dress；　while　someone　else　tried　to　sell　her　on
  the　merits　of　chiffon。　Stef　had　managed　to　assemble　a
  near…perfect　run…through　with　only　thirty　seconds’　notice　and
  a　whole　lot　of　pieces　missing；　I　saw　she　had　filled　the　gaps
  with　things　from　past　photo　shoots；　explaining　to　Miranda　that
  the　accessories　they　were　still　waiting　for　were　similar　but
  even　better。　They　were　all　masters　at　what　they　do；　but
  Miranda　was　the　ultimate。　She　was　the　ever…aloof　consumer；
  coolly　moving　from　one　gorgeous　stall　to　the　next；　never
  feigning　any　show　of　interest。　When　she　finally；　blessedly；
  did　decide；　she　pointed　and　manded　（much　like　a　judge　at　a
  dog　show；　“Bob；　she’s　chosen　the　Border　Collie　。　。　。”）；　and
  the　editors　nodded　obsequiously　（“Yes；　excellent　choice；”　“Oh；
  definitely；　the　perfect　choice”）　and　they　wrapped　up　their
  wares　and　scuttled　back　to　their　respective　departments　before
  she　inevitably　changed　her　mind。
  The　whole　hellish　ordeal　only　took　a　few　minutes；　but　by　the
  time　it　was　over；　we　were　all　exhausted　from　anxiety。　She’d
  already　announced　earlier　in　the　day　that　she’d　be　leaving
  early；　around　four；　to　spend　a　couple　hours　with　the　girls
  before　the　big　trip；　so　I　canceled　the　features　meeting；　to
  the　relief　of　the　entire　department。　At　precisely　3：58P　。M。
  she　began　packing　her　bag　to　leave；　a　not…so…strenuous
  activity；　since　I’d　be　bringing　anything　of　any　heft　or
  significance　to　her　apartment　later　on　that　evening　in　time
  for　her　flight。　Basically；　it　involved　tossing　her　Gucci
  wallet　and　her　Motorola　Cell　Phone　into　that　Fendi　bag　that
  she　kept　abusing。　The　past　few　weeks；　the　10；000　beauty　had
  been　serving　as　Cassidy’s　school　bag　and　many　of　the　beads—in
  addition　to　one　of　the　handles—had　snapped　off。　Miranda　had
  dropped　it　on　my　desk　one　day　and　ordered　me　to　have　it　fixed
  or；　if　it　was　impossible　to　fix；　to　just　throw　out。　I’d
  proudly　resisted　all　temptation　to　tell　her　the　bag　was
  unfixable　so　I　could　keep　it　and　instead　had　a　leatherworker
  repair　it　for　her　for　a　mere　twenty…five　dollars。
  When　she　finally　walked　out；　I　instinctively　reached　for　the
  phone　to　call　Alex　and　whine　about　my　day。　It　wasn’t　until　I’d
  dialed　half　of　his　number　that　I　remembered　we　were　taking　a
  break。　It　hit　me　that　this　would　be　the　first　day　in　more　than
  three　years　that　we　wouldn’t　talk。　I　sat　with　the　phone　in　my
  hand；　staring　at　an　e…mail　he’d　sent　the　day　before；　one　that
  he’d　signed　“love；”　and　wondered　if　I’d　made　a　horrible
  mistake　in　agreeing　to　this　break。　I　dialed　again；　this　time
  ready　to　tell　him　that　we　should　talk　about　everything；　figure
  out　where　we’d　gone　wrong；　that　I　take　responsibility　for　the
  part　I’d　played　in　the　slow　and　steady　fading　of　our
  relationship。　But　before　it　even　had　a　chance　to　ring；　Stef
  was　standing　over　my　desk　with　the　Accessories　War　Plan　for　my
  Paris　trip；　pumped　up　from　her　run…through　with　Miranda。　There
  were　shoes　and　bags　and　belts　and　jewelry　and　hosiery　and
  sunglasses　to　discuss；　so　I　replaced　the　receiver　and　tried　to
  focus　on　her　instructions。
  Logically；　it　would　seem　that　a　seven…hour　flight　in　steerage
  decked　out　in　a　pair　of　skintight　leather　pants；　open…toe
  strappy　sandals；　and　a　blazer　over　a　tank　top　would　be　the
  utmost　in　hellish　travel　experiences。　Not　so。　The　seven　hours
  in　flight　were　the　most　relaxing　I　could　remember。　Since
  Miranda　and　I　were　both　flying　to　Paris　at　the　same　time　on
  different　flights—she　from　Milan　and　me　from　New　York—it
  appeared　I’d　stumbled　on　the　single　situation　where　she　could
  not　call　me　for　seven　straight　hours。　For　one　blessed　day；　my
  inaccessibility　wasn’t　my　fault。
  For　reasons　I　still　didn’t　understand；　my　parents　hadn’t　been
  nearly　as　thrilled　as　I　thought　they’d　be　when　I’d　called　to
  tell　them　about　the　trip。
  “Oh；　really？”　my　mother　asked　in　that　special　way　of　hers　that
  implied　so　much　more　than　those　two　little　words　really　meant。
  “You’re　going　to　Paris　now？”
  “What　do　you　mean；　‘now’？”
  “Well；　it　just　doesn’t　seem　like　the　best　time　to　be　jetting
  off　to　Europe；　is　all；”　she　said　vaguely；　although　I　could
  tell　that　an　avalanche　of　Jewish…mother　guilt　was　ready　to
  begin　its　slide　in　my　direction。
  “And　why　is　that？　Whenwould　be　a　good　time？”
  “Don’t　get　upset；　Andy。　It’s　just　that　we　haven’t　seen　you　in
  months—not　that　we’re　plaining；　Dad　and　I　both　understand
  how　demanding　your　job　is—but　don’t　you　want　to　see　your　new
  nephew？　He’s　a　few　months　old　already　and　you　haven’t　even　met
  him　yet！”
  “Mom！　Don’t　make　me　feel　guilty。　I’m　dying　to　see　Isaac；　but
  you　know　I　can’t　just—”
  “You　know　Dad　and　I　will　pay　for　your　ticket　to　Houston；
  right？”
  “Yes！　You’ve　told　me　four　hundred　times。　I　know　it　and　I
  appreciate　it；　but　it’s　not　the　money。　I　can’t　get　any　time
  off　work　and　now　with　Emily　out；　I　can’t　just　up　and
  leave—even　on　weekends。　Does　it　make　sense　to　you　to　fly
  across　the　country　only　to　have　to　e　back　if　Miranda　calls
  me　on　Saturday　morning　to　pick　up　her　dry　cleaning？　Does　it？”
  “Of　course　not；　Andy；　I　just　thought—we　just　thought—that　you
  might　be　able　to　visit　them　in　the　next　couple　weeks；　because
  Miranda　was　going　to　be　away　and　all；　and　if　you　were　going　to
  fly　out　there；　then　Dad　and　I　would　go　also。　But　now　you’re
  going　to　Paris。”
  She　said　it　in　the　way　that　implied　what　she　was　really
  thinking。　“But　now　you’re　going　to　Paris”　translated　to　“But
  now　you’re　jetting　off　to　Europe　to　escape　all　of　your　family
  obligations。”
  “Mother；　let　me　make　something　very；　very　clear　here。　I　am　not
  going　on　vacation。　I　have　not　chosen　to　go　to　Paris　rather
  than　meet　my　baby　nephew。　It’s　not　my　decision　at　all；　as　you
  probably　know　but　are　refusing　to　accept。　It’s　really　very
  simple：　I　go　to　Paris　with　Miranda　in　three　days　for　one　week；
  or　I　get　fired。　Do　you　see　a　choice　here？　Because　if　so；　I’d
  love　to　hear　it。”
  She　was　quiet　for　a　moment　before　she　said；　“No；　of　course
  not；　honey。　You　know　we　understand。　I　just　hope—well；　I　just
  hope　that　you’re　happy　with　the　way　things　are　going。”
  “What’s　that　supposed　to　mean？”　I　asked　nastily。
  “Nothing；　nothing；”　she　rushed　to　say。　“It　doesn’t　mean
  anything　other　than　just　what　I　said：　your　dad　and　I　only　care
  that　you’re　happy；　and　it　seems　that　you’ve　really　been；　um；
  well；　uh；　pushing　yourself　lately。　Is　everything　OK？”
  I　softened　a　bit　since　she　was　clearly　trying　so　hard。　“Yeah；
  Mom；　everything’s　fine。　I’m　not　happy　to　be　going　to　Paris；
  just　so　you　know。　It’s　going　to　be　a　week　of　sheer　hell；
  twenty…four…seven。　But　my　year　will　be　up　soon；　and　I　can　put
  this　kind　of　living　behind　me。”
  “I　know；　sweetie；　I　know　it’s　been　a　tough　year　for　you。　I
  just　hope　this　all　ends　up　being　worth　it　for　you。　That’s
  all。”
  “I　know。　So　do　I。”
  We　hung　up　on　good　terms；　but　I　couldn’t　shake　the　feeling
  that　my　own　parents　were　disappointed　in　me。
  The　baggage　claim　at　de　Gaulle　was　a　nightmare；　but　I　found
  the　elegantly　dressed　driver　who　was　waving　a　sign　with　my
  name　on　it　when　I　exited　customs；　and　the　moment　he　closed　his
  own　door；　he　handed　me　a　Cell　Phone。
  “Ms。　Priestly　asked　that　you　call　her　upon　arrival。　I　took　the
  liberty　of　programming　the　hotel’s　number　into　the　automatic
  dialing。　She’s　in　the　Coco　Chanel　suite。”
  “Um；　oh；　OK。　Thanks。　I　guess　I’ll　call　right　now；”　I　announced
  rather　unnecessarily。
  But　before　I　could　press　the　star　key　and　the　number　one；　the
  phone　bleated　and　flashed　a　frightening　red　color。　If　the
  driver　hadn’t　been　watching　me　expectantly　I　would　have　muted
  the　ring　and　pretended　I　hadn’t　yet　seen　it；　but　I　was　left
  with　the　distinct　feeling　that　he　had　been　ordered　to　keep　a
  close　eye　on　me。　Something　about　his　expression　suggested　that
  it　was　not　in　my　best　interest　to　ignore　that　call。
  “Hello？　This　is　Andrea　Sachs；”　I　said　as　professionally　as
  possible；　already　making　over/und