“Oh；　I’m　sorry；　I；　uh；　only　have　American　dollars。　Is　that
  OK？”
  His　face　flushed　crimson　and　he　began　apologizing　profusely。
  “Oh；　no；　miss；　please　do　not　worry　about　such　things。　Ms。
  Priestly　takes　care　of　these　details　when　she　departs。
  However；　since　you　will　be　needing　local　currency　when　you
  leave　the　hotel；　allow　me　to　show　you　this。”　He　walked　over　to
  the　behemoth　of　a　desk；　slid　open　the　top　drawer；　and　handed
  me　an　envelope　with　FrenchRunway　’s　logo　on　it。　Inside　was　a
  pile　of　euro　bills；　about　4；000　American　dollars’　worth　in
  all。　The　note；　scribbled　by　Briget　Jardin；　the　editor　in　chief
  who’d　borne　the　brunt　of　planning　and　scheduling　for　both　this
  trip　and　Miranda’s　uping　party；　read：
  Andrea；　darling；　delighted　to　have　you　join　us！　Please　find
  enclosed　euros　for　your　use　while　in　Paris。　I’ve　spoken　with
  Monsieur　Renaud　and　he　will　be　on　call　for　Miranda　twenty…four
  hours　a　day。　See　below　for　a　listing　of　his　work　and　personal
  numbers；　as　well　as　the　numbers　for　the　hotel’s　chef；　physical
  fitness　trainer；　director　of　transportation；　and；　of　course；
  the　general　manager。　They　are　all　familiar　with　Miranda’s
  stays　during　the　shows　and　so　there　should　be　no　problems。　Of
  course；　I　may　always　be　reached　at　work　or；　if　necessary；　by
  cell；　Home　phone；　fax；　or　pager　if　either　of　you　requires
  anything　at　all。　If　I　don’t　see　you　before　Saturday’s　big
  soiree；　I’ll　look　forward　to　meeting　you　there。　Lots　of　Love；
  Briget
  Folded　on　a　sheet　ofRunway　stationery　and　tucked　underneath
  the　cash　was　a　list　of　nearly　a　hundred　phone　numbers；
  enpassing　everything　one　could　need　in　Paris；　from　a　chic
  florist　to　an　emergency　surgeon。　These　same　numbers　were
  repeated　on　the　last　page　of　the　detailed　itinerary　I’d
  created　for　Miranda　using　information　Briget　had　updated　daily
  and　faxed　over；　so　as　of　this　moment　there　didn’t　appear　to　be
  a　single　contingency—short　of　an　all…out　world　war—that　would
  prevent　Miranda　Priestly　from　viewing　the　spring　line　with　the
  least　possible　amount　of　stress；　anxiety；　and　concern。
  “Thank　you　so　much；　Stephan。　This　is　most　helpful。”　I　peeled
  off　a　few　bills　for　him　anyway；　but　he　courteously　pretended
  not　to　see　it　and　ducked　back　into　the　hallway。　I　was　pleased
  to　see　that　he　appeared　significantly　less　terrorized　than　he
  had　just　a　few　moments　earlier。
  I　somehow　managed　to　find　the　people　she　had　asked　for　and
  figured　I　had　a　few　minutes　to　rest　my　head　on　the
  four…hundred…thread…count　pillowcase；　but　the　phone　rang　the
  moment　I　closed　my　eyes。
  “Ahn…dre…ah；　e　to　my　room　immediately；”　she　barked　before
  slamming　down　the　phone。
  “Yes；　of　course；　Miranda；　thank　you　for　asking　so　nicely。　It’d
  be　my　pleasure；”　I　said　to　absolutely　nobody。　I　heaved　my
  jet…lagged　body　off　the　bed　and　concentrated　on　not　getting　a
  heel　stuck　in　the　carpeted　hallway　that　connected　my　room　to
  hers。　Once　again；　a　maid　answered　the　door　when　I　knocked。
  “Ahn…dre…ah！　One　of　Briget’s　assistants　just　rang　me　to　see
  how　long　my　speech　is　for　today’s　brunch；”　she　announced。　She
  was　paging　through　a　copy　ofWomen’s　Wear　Daily　that　someone
  from　the　office—probably　Allison；　who　knew　the　drill　from　her
  tenure　in　Miranda’s　office—had　faxed　earlier；　and　two
  beautiful　men　were　working　on　her　hair　and　makeup。　A　cheese
  plate　sat　on　the　antique　table　beside　her。
  Speech？　What　speech？　The　only　thing　besides　shows　that　was　on
  the　itinerary　today　was　some　sort　of　awards　luncheon　that
  Miranda　planned　to　spend　her　usual　fifteen　minutes　at　before
  bolting　out　of　sheer　boredom。
  “I’m　sorry。　Did　you　say　a　speech？”
  “I　did。”　She　carefully　closed　the　paper；　calmly　folded　it　in
  half；　and　then　tossed　it　angrily　to　the　floor；　narrowly
  missing　one　of　the　men　who　knelt　in　front　of　her。　“Why　the
  hell　was　I　not　informed　that　I’d　be　receiving　some　nonsense
  award　at　today’s　luncheon？”　she　hissed；　her　face　contorting
  with　a　hatred　I’d　never　seen　before。　Displeasure？　Sure。
  Dissatisfaction？　All　the　time。　Annoyance；　frustration；
  generalized　unHappiness？　Of　course；　every　minute　of　every　day。
  But　I’d　never　seen　her　look　so　downrightpissed　off　。
  “Um；　Miranda；　I’m　so　sorry；　but　it　was　actually　Briget’s
  office　that　RSVP’d　you　to　the　event　today；　and　they　never—”
  “Stop　speaking。　Stop　speaking　this　instant！　All　you　ever　offer
  me　are　excuses。You　are　my　assistant；you　are　the　person　I
  designated　to　work　things　out　in　Paris；you　are　the　one　who
  should　be　keeping　me　abreast　of　these　things。”　She　was　nearly
  shouting　now。　One　of　the　makeup　guys　asked　softly　in　English
  if　we　would　like　a　moment　alone；　but　Miranda　ignored　him
  entirely。　“It’s　noon　right　now　and　I’ll　be　needing　to　leave
  here　in　forty…five　minutes。　I　expect　a　short；　succinct；　and
  articulate　speech　legibly　typed　and　waiting　in　my　room。　If　you
  cannot　acplish　this；　see　yourself　Home。Permanently　。　That’s
  all。”
  I　fled　down　the　hallway　faster　than　I’d　ever　run　in　heels　and
  whipped　open　my　international　Cell　Phone　before　I’d　made　it
  into　my　room。　It　was　nearly　impossible　to　dial　Briget’s　work
  number　since　my　hands　were　shaking　so　badly；　but　somehow　the
  call　went　through。　One　of　her　assistants　answered。
  “I　need　Briget！”　I　shrieked；　my　voice　breaking　when　I
  pronounced　her　name。　“Where　is　she？Where　is　she？　I　need　to
  talk　to　her。Now！　”
  The　girl　was　momentarily　shocked　into　silence。　“Andrea？　Is
  that　you？”
  “Yes；　it’s　me　and　I　need　Briget。　It’s　an　emergency—where　the
  hell　is　she？”
  “She’s　at　a　show；　but　don’t　worry；　she　always　has　her　Cell
  Phone　on。　Are　you　at　the　hotel？　I’ll　have　her　call　you　right
  back。”
  The　phone　on　the　desk　rang　a　mere　few　seconds　later；　but　it
  felt　like　a　week。　“Andrea；”　she　lilted　in　her　lovely　French
  accent。　“What　is　it；　dear？　Monique　said　you　were　hysterical。”
  “Hysterical？　Damn　right　I’m　hysterical！　Briget；　how　could　you
  do　this　to　me？　Your　office　made　the　arrangements　for　this
  fucking　luncheon　and　no　one　bothered　to　tell　me　that　she　is
  not　only　receiving　an　award　but　also　expected　to　give　a
  speech？”
  “Andrea；　calm　down。　I’m　sure　we　told—”
  “And　I　have　to　write　it！　Are　you　listening　to　me？　I　have
  forty…five　fucking　minutes　to　write　an　acceptance　speech　for
  an　award　I　know　nothing　about　in　a　language　I　don’t　speak。　Or
  I’m　finished。　What　am　I　going　to　do？”
  “All　right；　relax；　I’m　going　to　walk　you　through　this。　First
  of　all；　the　ceremony　is　right　there；　at　the　Ritz；　in　one　of
  the　salons。”
  “The　what？　Which　salon？”　I　hadn’t　had　a　chance　to　look　around
  the　hotel　yet；　but　I　was　reasonably　sure　there　weren’t　any
  pubs　in　the　place。
  “It　is　French　for；　oh；　what　do　you　call　them？　Meeting　rooms。
  So；　she　will　only　need　to　go　downstairs。　It　is　for　the　French
  Council　on　Fashion；　an　organization　here　in　Paris　that　always
  has　its　awards　during　the　shows　because　everyone　is　in
  town。Runway　will　be　receiving　an　award　for　fashion　coverage。
  It　is　not　such　a；　how　do　you　say；　big　deal；　almost　like　a
  formality。”
  “Great；　well　at　least　I　know　what　it’s　for。　What　exactly　am　I
  supposed　to　write？　Why　don’t　you　just　dictate　in　English　and　I
  can　get　Monsieur　Renaud　to　translate　it；　OK？　You　start。　I’m
  ready。”　My　voice　had　regained　some　confidence；　but　I　could
  still　barely　grip　the　pen。　The　bination　of　exhaustion；
  stress；　and　hunger　was　making　it　hard　to　focus　my　eyes　on　the
  Ritz　stationery　that　was　laid　out　on　my　desk。
  “Andrea；　you　are　in　luck　again。”
  “Oh；　really？　Because　I’m　not　feeling　so　lucky　right　now；
  Briget。”
  “These　things　are　always　conducted　in　English。　There　is　no
  need　for　translation。　So　you　can　write　it；　yes？”
  “Yes；　yes　I’ll　write　it；”　I　mumbled　and　dropped　the　phone。
  There　wasn’t　even　time　to　consider　that　this　was　my　very　first
  chance　to　show　Miranda　that　I　was　capable　of　doing　something
  more　sophisticated　than　fetching　lattes。
  After　I　hung　up　and　began　typing　away　at　sixty　words　a　minute—
  typing　was　the　only　useful　class　I’d　taken　in　all　of　high
  school—I　realized　the　whole　thing　would　only　take　two；　maybe
  three　minutes　for　Miranda　to　read。　There　was　just　enough　time
  to　gulp　some　of　the　Pellegrino　and　devour　a　few　of　the
  strawberries　someone　had　thoughtfully　left　on　my　small　bar。If
  only　they　could’ve　left　a　cheeseburger；　I　thought。　I
  remembered　that　I　had　tucked　a　Twix　bar　in　my　luggage　that　had
  been　neatly　piled　in　the　corner；　but　there　wasn’t　time　to　look
  for　it。　Exactly　forty　minutes　had　passed　since　I’d　r