第 84 节
作者:大热      更新:2023-01-03 17:22      字数:8923
  wafted outside from a window above the small garden。 I took a
  deep breath and reached up to knock; but the door swung open。
  It’s safe to say that never; ever; in my young life had I been
  more surprised than I was that night: Christian was smiling
  back at me。
  “Andy; darling; so glad you could make it;” he said; leaning
  in and kissing me full on the mouth—a bit intimate considering
  my mouth had been hanging wide open in disbelief。
  “What are you doing here?”
  He grinned and pushed that ever…present curl off his forehead。
  “Shouldn’t I be asking you the same thing? Because you seem to
  follow me everywhere I go; I’m going to have to assume you
  want to sleep with me。”
  I blushed and; always the lady; snorted loudly。 “Yeah;
  something like that。 Actually; I’m not here as a guest; I’m
  just a very well dressed babysitter。 Miranda asked me to e
  along and didn’t tell me until the last second that I’m
  supposed to be watching the hosts’ bratty son tonight。 So; if
  you’ll excuse me; I better go make sure he has all the milk
  and crayons he’ll need。”
  “Oh; he’s just fine; and I’m pretty sure the only thing he’ll
  be needing tonight is another kiss from his babysitter。” And
  he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me again。 I opened
  my mouth to protest; to ask him what the hell was going on;
  but he took that as enthusiasm and slid his tongue into my
  mouth。
  “Christian!” I was hissing quietly; wondering just how quickly
  Miranda would fire me if she caught me making out with some
  random guy at one of her own parties。 “What the hell are you
  doing? Let go of me!” I squirmed away; but he just continued
  to grin that annoyingly adorable smile。
  “Andy; since you seem to be a little slow on the uptake here;
  this ismy house。My parents are hosting this party; and I was
  clever enough to have them ask your boss to bring you along。
  Did she tell you I was ten years old; or did you just decide
  that for yourself?”
  “You’re joking。 Tell me you’re joking。 Please?”
  “Nope。 Fun; right? Since I can’t seem to pin you down any
  other way; I thought this might work。 My stepmother and
  Miranda used to be friendly when Miranda worked at
  FrenchRunway —she’s a photographer and does shoots for them
  all the time—so I just had her tell Miranda that her lonely
  son wouldn’t mind a little pany in the form of one
  attractive assistant。 Worked like a charm。 e on; let’s get
  you a drink。” He put his hand on the small of my back and led
  me toward a massive oak bar in the living room; which
  currently had three uniformed bartenders administering
  martinis and glasses of Scotch and elegant flutes of
  champagne。
  “So; let me just get this straight: I don’t have to babysit
  for anyone tonight? You don’t have a baby brother or anything
  like that; do you?” It was inprehensible that I had driven
  to a party with Miranda Priestly and had no responsibilities
  for the entire night except to hang out with a Hot Smart
  Writer。 Maybe they’d invited me because they were planning to
  make me dance or sing to entertain the guests; or perhaps they
  were really short one cocktail waitress and figured I was the
  easiest last…minute fill…in? Or maybe we were headed to the
  coat check; where I would relieve the girl who sat there now;
  looking bored and tired? My mind refused to wrap itself around
  Christian’s story。
  “Well; I’m not saying you don’t have to babysit at all
  tonight; because I plan on needing lots and lots of attention。
  But I think it’ll be a better night than you’d anticipated。
  Wait right here。” He kissed me on the cheek and disappeared
  into the crowd of partygoers; mostly distinguished…looking men
  and sort of artsy; fashionable women in their forties and
  fifties; what appeared to be a mix of bankers and magazine
  people; with a few designers; photographers; and models thrown
  in for good measure。 There was a small; elegant stone patio in
  the back of the townhouse; all lit by white candles; where a
  violinist played softly; and I peeked outside。 Immediately I
  recognized Anna Wintour; looking absolutely ravishing in a
  cream…colored silk slip dress and beaded Manolo sandals。 She
  was talking animatedly to a man I presumed to be her
  boyfriend; although her giant Chanel sunglasses prevented me
  from being able to tell if she was amused; indifferent; or
  sobbing。 The press loved to pare the antics and attitudes
  of Anna and Miranda; but I found it impossible to believe that
  anyone could be quite as unbearable as my boss。
  Behind her stood what I presumed to be a fewVogue editors;
  eyeing Anna warily and wearily like our own Clackers eye
  Miranda; and next to them was a screeching Donatella Versace。
  Her face was so caked with makeup; her clothes were so
  phenomenally tight; that she actually looked like a caricature
  of herself。 Like the first time I visited Switzerland and
  couldn’t help thinking how much it resembled the mock…up town
  in EPCOT; Donatella actually looked more like the character
  onSaturday Night Live than herself。
  I sipped my glass of champagne (and I thought I wouldn’t be
  having any!) and made small talk with an Italian guy—one of
  the first ugly ones I’d ever met—who spoke in florid prose
  about his innate appreciation for the female body; until
  Christian reappeared again。
  “Hey; e with me for a minute;” he said; once again
  navigating me smoothly through the crowd。 He was wearing his
  uniform: perfectly faded Diesels; a white T…shirt; a dark
  sport coat; and Gucci loafers; and he blended into the fashion
  crowd seamlessly。
  “Where are we going?” I asked; keeping my eyes peeled for
  Miranda; who; no matter what Christian said; was still
  probably expecting me to be banished to the corner; faxing or
  updating the itinerary。
  “First; we’re getting you another drink; and maybe another for
  me as well。 Then; I’m going to teach you how to dance。”
  “What makes you think I don’t know how to dance? It just so
  happens that I’m a gifted dancer。”
  He handed me another glass of champagne that seemed to appear
  out of thin air and led me into his parents’ formal living
  room; which was done in gorgeous shades of deep maroon。 A
  six…piece band was playing hip music; of course; and the
  couple dozen people under thirty…five had congregated here。 As
  if on cue; the band started playing Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get
  It On” and Christian pulled me against him。 He smelled of
  masculine; preppy cologne; something old…school like Polo
  Sport。 His hips moved naturally to the music; no thinking
  involved; we just moved together all over the makeshift dance
  floor; and he sang quietly in my ear。 The rest of the room
  became fuzzy—I was vaguely aware there were others dancing;
  too; and somewhere someone was making a toast to something;
  but at that moment the only thing with any definition was
  Christian。 Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind; there
  was a tiny but insistent reminder that this body against mine
  was not Alex’s; but it didn’t matter at all。 Not now; not
  tonight。
  It was after one when I actually remembered that I was there
  with Miranda; it had been hours since I’d last seen her; and I
  was certain she’d forgotten all about me and headed back to
  the hotel。 But when I finally pulled myself away from the
  couch in his father’s study; I saw her happily chatting with
  Karl Lagerfeld and Gwyneth Paltrow; all of them apparently
  oblivious to the fact that they would all be waking up for the
  Christian Dior show in just a few hours。 I was debating
  whether or not I should approach her when she spotted me。
  “Ahn…dre…ah! e over here;” she called; her voice sounding
  almost merry over the din of the party that had bee
  noticeably more festive in the last few hours。 Someone had
  dimmed the lights; and it was abundantly clear that the
  partyers who remained had been well taken care of by the
  smiling bartenders。 The annoying way she pronounced my name
  didn’t even bother me in my warm and fuzzy champagne buzz。 And
  even though I thought the evening couldn’t get any better; she
  was clearly calling me over to introduce me to her celebrity
  friends。
  “Yes; Miranda?” I cooed in my most ingratiating;
  thank…you…for…bringing…me…to…this…fabulous…place tone。 She
  didn’t even look in my general direction。
  “Get me a Pellegrino and then make sure the driver’s out
  front。 I’m ready to leave now。” The two women and one man
  standing next to her snickered; and I felt my face turn bright
  red。
  “Of course。 I’