standing　next　to　her　snickered；　and　I　felt　my　face　turn　bright
  red。
  “Of　course。　I’ll　be　right　back。”　I　fetched　the　water；　which
  she　accepted　without　a　thank…you；　and　made　my　way　through　the
  thinning　crowd　to　the　car。　I　considered　finding　Christian’s
  parents　to　thank　them　but　thought　better　of　it　and　headed
  straight　toward　the　door；　where　he　was　leaning　up　against　the
  frame　with　a　smugly　satisfied　expression。
  “So；　little　Andy；　did　I　show　you　a　good　time　tonight？”　he
  slurred　just　a　little　bit；　and　it　seemed　nothing　short　of
  adorable　at　that　moment。
  “It　was　all　right；　I　suppose。”
  “Just　all　right？　Sounds　to　me　like　you　wish　I　would’ve　taken
  you　upstairs　tonight；　huh；　Andy？　All　in　good　time；　my　friend；
  all　in　good　time。”
  I　smacked　him　playfully　on　the　forearm。　“Don’t　flatter
  yourself；　Christian。　Thank　your　parents　for　me。”　And；　for
  once；　I　leaned　over　first　and　kissed　him　on　the　cheek　before
  he　could　do　anything　else。　“G’night。”
  “A　tease！”　he　called；　slurring　just　a　little　bit　more。　“You’re
  quite　the　little　tease。　Bet　your　boyfriend　loves　that　about
  you；　doesn’t　he？”　He　was　smiling　now；　and　not　cruelly。　It　was
  all　part　of　the　flirty　game　for　him；　but　the　reference　to　Alex
  sobered　me　for　a　minute。　Just　long　enough　to　realize　that　I’d
  had　a　better　time　tonight　than　I　could　remember　having　had　in
  many　years。　The　drinking　and　the　close　dancing　and　his　hands
  on　my　back　as　he　pulled　me　against　him　had　made　me　feel　more
  alive　than　in　all　the　months　since　I’d　been　working　atRunway；
  months　that　had　been　filled　with　nothing　but　frustration　and
  humiliation　and　a　body…numbing　exhaustion。　Maybe　this　was　why
  Lily　did　it；　I　thought。　The　guys；　the　partying；　the　sheer　joy
  of　realizing　you’re　young　and　breathing。　I　couldn’t　wait　to
  call　and　tell　her　all　about　it。
  Miranda　joined　me　in　the　backseat　of　the　limo　after　another
  five　minutes；　and　she　even　appeared　to　be　somewhat　happy。　I
  wondered　if　she’d　gotten　drunk　but　ruled　that　out　immediately：
  the　most　I’d　ever　seen　her　drink　was　a　sip　of　this　or　that；
  and　then　only　because　a　social　situation　demanded　it。　She
  preferred　Perrier　or　Pellegrino　to　champagne　and　certainly　a
  milkshake　or　a　latte　to　a　cosmo；　so　the　chances　she　was
  actually　drunk　right　now　were　slim。
  After　grilling　me　about　the　following　day’s　itinerary　for　the
  first　five　minutes　（luckily　I’d　thought　to　tuck　a　copy　in　my
  bag）；　she　turned　and　looked　at　me　for　the　first　time　all
  evening。
  “Emily—er；　Ahn…dre…ah；　how　long　have　you　been　working　for　me？”
  It　came　out　of　left　field；　and　my　mind　couldn’t　work　fast
  enough　to　figure　out　the　ulterior　motive　for　this　sudden
  question。　It　felt　strange　to　be　the　object　of　any　question　of
  hers　that　wasn’t　explicitly　asking　why　I　was　such　a　fucking
  idiot　for　not　finding；　fetching；　or　faxing　something　fast
  enough。　She’d　never　actually　asked　about　my　life　before。
  Unless　she　remembered　the　details　of　our　hiring　interview—and
  it　seemed　unlikely；　considering　she’d　stared　at　me　with
  utterly　blank　eyes　my　very　first　day　of　work—then　she　had　no
  idea　where；　if　anywhere；　I’d　attended　college；　where；　if
  anywhere；　I　lived　in　Manhattan；　or　what；　if　anything；　I　did　in
  the　city　in　the　few　precious　hours　a　day　I　wasn’t　racing
  around　for　her。　And　although　this　question　most　certainly　did
  have　a　Miranda　element　to　it；　my　intuition　said　that　this
  might；　just　maybe；　be　a　conversation　about　me。
  “Next　month　it　will　be　a　year；　Miranda。”
  “And　do　you　feel　you’ve　learned　a　few　things　that　may　help　you
  in　your　future？”　She　peered　at　me；　and　I　instantly　suppressed
  the　urge　to　start　rattling　off　the　myriad　things　I’d
  “learned”：　how　to　find　a　single　store　or　restaurant　review　in
  a　whole　city　or　out　of　a　dozen　newspapers　with　few　to　no　clues
  about　its　genuine　origin；　how　to　pander　to　preteenage　girls
  who’d　already　had　more　life　experiences　than　both　my　parents
  bined；　how　to　plead　with；　scream　at；　persuade；　cry　to；
  pressure；　cajole；　or　charm　anyone；　from　the　immigrant　food
  delivery　guy　to　the　editor　in　chief　of　a　major　publishing
  house　to　get　exactly　what　I　needed；　when　I　needed　it；　and；　of
  course；　how　to　plete　just　about　any　challenge　in　under　an
  hour　because　the　phrase　“I’m　not　sure　how”　or　“that’s　not
  possible”　was　simply　not　an　option。　It　had　been　nothing　if　not
  a　learning…rich　year。
  “Oh；　of　course；”　I　gushed。　“I’ve　learned　more　in　one　year
  working　for　you　than　I　could’ve　hoped　to　have　learned　in　any
  other　job。　It’s　been　fascinating；　really；　seeing　how　a
  major—themajor—magazine　runs；　the　production　cycle；　what　all
  the　different　jobs　are。　And；　of　course；　being　able　to　observe
  the　way　you　manage　everything；　all　the　decisions　you　make—it’s
  been　an　amazing　year。　I’m　so　thankful；　Miranda！”　So　thankful
  that　two　of　my　molars　had　been　aching　for　weeks；　too；　but　I
  wasn’t　ever　able　to　get　in　to　see　a　dentist　during　working
  hours；　but　whatever。　My　newfound；　intimate　knowledge　of　Jimmy
  Choo’s　handicraft　had　been　well　worth　the　pain。
  Could　this　possibly　sound　believable？　I　stole　a　glance；　and
  she　seemed　to　be　buying　it；　nodding　her　head　gravely。　“Well；
  you　know；　Ahn…dre…ah；　that　if　ah…fter　a　year　my　girls　have
  performed　well；　I　consider　them　ready　for　a　promotion。”
  My　heart　surged。　Was　it　finally　happening？　Was　this　where　she
  told　me　that　she’d　already　gone　ahead　and　secured　a　job　for　me
  atThe　New　Yorker　？　Never　mind　that　she　had　no　idea　I　would
  kill　to　work　there。　Maybe　she　had　just　figured　it　out　because
  she　cares。
  “I　have　my　doubts　about　you；　of　course。　Don’t　think　I　haven’t
  noticed　your　lack　of　enthusiasm；　or　those　sighs　or　faces　you
  make　when　I　ask　you　to　do　something　that　you　quite　obviously
  don’t　feel　like　doing。　I’m　hoping　that’s　just　a　sign　of　your
  immaturity；　since　you　do　seem　reasonably　petent　in　other
  areas。　What　exactly　are　you　interested　in　doing？”
  Reasonably　petent！　She　may　as　well　have　announced　I　was　the
  most　intelligent；　sophisticated；　gorgeous；　and　capable　young
  woman　she’d　ever　had　the　pleasure　of　meeting。　Miranda　Priestly
  had　just　told　me　I　was　reasonably　petent！
  “Well；　actually；　it’s　not　that　I　don’t　love　fashion；　because
  of　course　I　do。　Who　wouldn’t？”　I　rushed　on　to　say；　keeping　a
  careful　appraisal　of　her　expression；　which；　as　usual；　remained
  mostly　unchanged。　“It’s　just　that　I’ve　always　dreamt　of
  being　a　writer；　so　I　was　hoping　that　might；　uh；　be　an　area
  I　could　explore。”
  She　folded　her　hands　in　her　lap　and　glanced　out　the　window。　It
  was　clear　that　this　forty…five…second　conversation　was　already
  beginning　to　bore　her；　so　I　had　to　move　quickly。　“Well；　I
  certainly　have　no　idea　if　you　can　write　a　word　or　not；　but　I’m
  not　opposed　to　having　you　write　a　few　short　pieces　for　the
  magazine　to　find　out。　Perhaps　a　theater　review　or　a　small
  writeup　for　the　Happenings　section。　As　long　as　it　doesn’t
  interfere　with　any　of　your　responsibilities　for　me；　and　is
  done　only　during　your　own　time；　of　course。”
  “Of　course；　of　course。　That　would　be　wonderful！”　We　were
  talking；　really　municating；　and　we　hadn’t　so　much　as
  mentioned　the　words　“breakfast”　or　“dry　cleaning”　yet。　Things
  were　going　too　well　not　to　just　go　for　it；　and　so　I　said；
  “It’s　my　dream　to　work　atThe　New　Yorker　one　day。”
  This　seemed　to　catch　her　now　drifting　attention；　and　once
  again　she　peered　at　me。　“Why　ever　would　you　want　to　do　that？
  No　glamour　there；　just　nuts　and　bolts。”　I　couldn’t　decide　if
  the　question　was　rhetorical；　so　I　played　it　safe　and　kept　my
  mouth　shut。
  My　time　was　about　twenty　seconds　from　expiring；　both　because
  we　were　nearing　the　hotel　and　her　fleeting　interest　in　me　was
  fading　fast。　She　was　scrolling　through　the　ining　calls　on
  her　Cell　Phone；　but　still　managed　to　say　in　the　most
  offhanded；　casual　way；　“Hmm；The　New　Yorker　。　Condé　Nast。”　I
  was　nodding　wildly；　encouragingly；　but　she　wasn’t　looking　at
  me。　“Of　course　I　know　a　great　many　people　there。　We’ll　see　how
  the　rest　of　the　trip　goes；　and　perhaps　I’ll　make　a　call　over
  there　when　we　return。”
  The　car　pulled　up　to　the　entrance；　and　an　exhausted…looking
  Monsieur　Renaud　eclipsed　the　bellman　who　was　leaning　forward
  to　open　Miranda’s　door　and　opened　it　himself。
  “Ladies！　I　hope　you　had　a　lovely　evening；”　he　crooned；　doing
  his　best　to　smile　through　the　exhaustion。
  “We’ll　be　needing　the　car　at　nine　tomorrow　morning　to　go　to
  the　Christian　Dior　show。　I　have　a　breakfast　meeting　in　the
  lobby　at　eight…thirty。　See　that　I’m　n