shredder。　My　head　ached　from　a　bination　of　hangover　and
  anxiety；　causing　my　empty　stomach　to　protest　with　threatening
  waves　of　nausea。　I　was　standing　in　the　very　back　of　the　room
  with　assorted　C…list　reporters　and　others　who　didn’t　rank　high
  enough　to　warrant　a　seat；　keeping　one　eye　on　Miranda　and　the
  other　scoping　out　the　least　humiliating　places　to　be　sick　if
  the　need　arose。You　remind　me　of　myself　when　I　was　your　age。
  You　remind　me　of　myself　when　I　was　your　age。　You　remind　me　of
  myself　when　I　was　your　age　。　The　words　kept　reverberating　over
  and　over；　keeping　tune　to　the　steady　and　persistent　pounding
  of　my　forehead。
  Miranda　managed　not　to　address　me　for　nearly　an　hour；　but
  after　that　she　was　off　and　running。　Even　though　I　was　standing
  in　the　same　room　she　was；　she　called　my　Cell　Phone　to　request
  a　Pellegrino。　From　that　moment　on；　the　phone　rang　in　ten…　to
  twelve…minute　increments；　each　request　sending　another　shock
  of　pain　directly　to　my　head。Brrring。　“Get　Mr。　Tomlinson　on　his
  air　phone　on　the　jet。”　（B…DAD　didn’t　answer　on　his　air　phone
  when　I　tried　calling　it　sixteen　times。）Brrring。　“Remind　all
  theRunway　editors　in　Paris　that　just　because　they’re　here　does
  not　mean　they　can　neglect　their　responsibilities　at　Home—I
  want　everything　in　by　original　deadline！”　（The　couple　ofRunway
  editors　I　had　gotten　in　touch　with　at　their　various　hotels　in
  Paris　had　simply　laughed　at　me　and　hung　up。）Brrring。　“Get　me　a
  regular　American　turkey　sandwich　immediately—I’m　tiring　of　all
  this　ham。”　（I　walked　more　than　two　miles　in　painful　boots　and
  with　an　upset　stomach；　but　there　was　no　turkey　to　be　found
  anywhere。　I’m　convinced　she　knew；　since　she’d　never　once
  before　asked　for　a　turkey　sandwich　while　in　America—even
  though；　of　course；　they’re　available　on　every　street
  corner。）Brrring。　“I　expect　dossiers　prepared　on　the　three　best
  chefs　you’ve　found　thus　far　to　be　waiting　in　my　suite　by　the
  time　we　return　from　this　show。”　（Emily　hacked　and　whined　and
  bitched　but　promised　that　she’d　fax　over　whatever　information
  she　had　on　the　candidates　so　far　and　I　could　make　them　into
  “dossiers。”）Brrring！　Brrring！　Brrring！　You　remind　me　of　myself
  when　I　was　your　age　。
  Too　nauseated　and　crippled　to　watch　the　parade　of　anorexic
  models；　I　ducked　outside　for　a　quick　cigarette。　Naturally；　the
  moment　I　flicked　on　my　lighter；　my　Cell　Phone　shrilled　again。
  “Ahn…dre…ah！　Ahn…dre…ah！　Where　are　you？　Where　the　hell　are　you
  right　now？”
  I　tossed　out　my　still　unlit　cigarette　and　raced　back　inside；
  my　stomach　churning　so　violently　that　I　knew　I　would　be
  sick—it　was　just　a　matter　of　when　and　where。
  “I’m　right　in　the　back　of　the　room；　Miranda；”　I　said；　sliding
  through　the　door　and　pressing　my　back　against　the　wall。　“Right
  to　the　left　of　the　door。　Do　you　see　me？”
  I　watched　as　she　swiveled　her　head　back　and　forth　until　her
  eyes　finally　rested　on　mine。　I　was　about　to　hang　up　the　phone；
  but　she　was　still　stage　whispering　into　it。　“Don’t　move；　do
  you　hear　me？　Do　not　move！　One　would　think　that　my　assistant
  would　understand　she’s　here　to　assist　me；　not　to　gallivant
  around　outside　when　I　need　her。　This　is　unacceptable；
  Ahn…dre…ah！”　By　the　time　she’d　made　it　to　the　back　of　the　room
  and　positioned　herself　in　front　of　me；　a　woman　in　a　glimmering
  floor…length　silver　gown　with　an　empire　waist　and　slight　flare
  was　sashaying　through　the　reverent　crowds；　and　the　music
  switched　from　some　sort　of　bizarre　Gregorian　chants　to　all…out
  heavy　metal。　My　head　began　pounding　almost　in　tune　to　the
  change　in　music。　Miranda　didn’t　stop　hissing　when　she　reached
  me；　but　she　did；　finally；　flip　her　Cell　Phone　closed。　I　did
  the　same。
  “Ahn…dre…ah；　we　have　a　very　serious　problem　here。You　have　a
  very　serious　problem。　I　just　received　a　call　from　Mr。
  Tomlinson。　It　seems　Annabelle　brought　it　to　his　attention　that
  the　twins’　passports　expired　last　week。”　She　stared　at　me；　but
  all　I　could　do　was　concentrate　on　not　throwing　up。
  “Oh；　really？”　was　all　I　could　manage；　but　that　clearly　wasn’t
  the　right　response。　Her　hand　tightened　around　her　bag　and　her
  eyes　began　to　bulge　with　anger。
  “Oh；　really？”she　mimicked　in　a　hyena…like　howl。　People　were
  beginning　to　stare　at　us。　“Oh；　really？　That’s　all　you　have　to
  say？　‘Oh；　really？’　”
  “No；　uh；　of　course　not；　Miranda。　I　didn’t　mean　it　like　that。
  Is　there　something　I　can　do　to　help？”
  “Is　there　something　I　can　do　to　help？”she　mimicked　again；　this
  time　in　a　whiny　child’s　voice。　If　she　had　been　any　other
  person　on　earth；　I　would　have　reached　out　and　slapped　her
  face。　“You　damn　well　better　believe　it；　Ahn…dre…ah。　Since
  you’re　clearly　unable　to　stay　on　top　of　these　things　in
  advance；　you’ll　need　to　figure　out　how　to　renew　them　in　time
  for　their　flight　tonight。　I　will　not　have　my　own　daughters
  miss　this　party　tomorrow　night；　do　you　understand　me？”
  Did　I　understand　her？　Hmm。　A　very　good　question　indeed。　I　was
  thoroughly　unable　to　understand　how　it　was　my　fault　that　her
  ten…year…olds　had　expired　passports　when　they；　theoretically；
  had　two　parents；　a　stepfather；　and　a　full…time　nanny　to
  oversee　such　things；　but　I　also　understood　it　didn’t　matter。
  If　she　thought　it　was　my　fault；　it　was。　I　understood　that　she
  would　never　understand　when　I　told　her　that　those　girls　were
  not　getting　on　that　plane　tonight。　There　was　virtually　nothing
  I　couldn’t　find；　fix；　or　arrange；　but　securing　federal
  documents　while　in　a　foreign　country　in　less　than　three　hours
  was　not　happening。　Period。　She　had　finally　made　her　very　first
  request　of　me　in　a　full　year　that　I　could　not
  acmodate—regardless　of　how　much　she　barked　or　demanded　or
  intimidated；　it　was　not　happening。You　remind　me　of　myself　when
  I　was　your　age　。
  Fuck　her。　Fuck　Paris　and　fashion　shows　and　marathon　games　of
  “I’m　so　fat。”　Fuck　all　the　people　who　believed　that　Miranda’s
  behavior　was　justified　because　she　could　pair　a　talented
  photographer　with　some　expensive　clothes　and　walk　away　with
  some　pretty　magazine　pages。　Fuck　her　for　even　thinking　that　I
  was　anything　like　her。　And　most　of　all；　fuck　her　for　being
  right。　What　the　hell　was　I　standing　here　for；　getting　abused
  and　belittled　and　humiliated　by　this　joyless　she…devil？　So
  maybe；　just　maybe；　I；　too；　could　be　sitting　at　this　very　same
  event　thirty　years　from　now；　acpanied　only　by　an　assistant
  who　loathes　me；　surrounded　by　armies　of　people　who　pretend
  they　like　me　because　they　have　to。
  I　yanked　out　my　Cell　Phone　and　punched　in　a　number　and　watched
  as　Miranda　became　increasingly　more　livid。
  “Ahn…dre…ah！”　she　hissed；　much　too　ladylike　to　ever　make　a
  scene。　“What　do　you　think　you’re　doing？　I’m　telling　you　that
  my　daughters　need　passports　immediately；　and　you　decide　it’s　a
  good　time　to　chat　on　your　phone？　Are　you　under　the　very
  mistaken　impression　that’s　why　I　brought　you　to　Paris？”
  My　mother　picked　up　on　the　third　ring；　but　I　didn’t　even　say
  hello。
  “Mom；　I’m　getting　on　the　next　flight　I　can。　I’ll　call　you　when
  I　get　to　JFK。　I’m　ing　Home。”　I　clicked　the　phone　shut
  before　she　could　respond　and　looked　up　to　see　Miranda；　who
  appeared　genuinely　surprised。　I　felt　a　smile　break　through　the
  headache　and　nausea　when　I　realized　that　I’d　rendered　her
  momentarily　speechless。　Unfortunately；　she　recovered　quickly。
  There’s　a　small　chance　I　wouldn’t　have　gotten　fired　if　I’d
  immediately　pleaded　and　explained　and　lost　the　defiant
  attitude；　but　I　couldn’t　seem　to　muster　one　single；　tiny　shred
  of　self…control。
  “Ahn…dre…ah；　you　realize　what　you’re　doing；　do　you　not？　You　do
  know　that　if　you　simply　leave　here　like　this；　I’m　going　to　be
  forced—”
  “Fuck　you；　Miranda。Fuck　you　。”
  She　gasped　audibly　while　her　hand　flew　to　her　mouth　in　shock；
  and　I　felt　not　a　few　Clackers　turn　to　see　what　the　motion
  was。　They’d　begun　pointing　and　whispering；　themselves　as
  shocked　as　Miranda　that　some　nobody　assistant　had　just　said
  that—and　none　too　quietly—to　one　of　the　great　living　fashion
  legends。
  “Ahn…dre…ah！”　She　grabbed　my　upper　arm　with　her　clawlike　hand；
  but　I　wrenched　it　out　of　her　grip　and　plastered　on　an　enormous
  smile。　I　also　figured　it’d　be　an　appropriate　time　to　stop
  whispering　and　let　everyone　in　on　our　little　secret。
  “So　sorry；　Miranda；”　I　announced　in　a　normal　voice　that　for
  the　first　time　since　I’d　landed　in　Paris　wasn’t　shaking
  uncontrollably；　“but　I　don’t　think　I’ll　be　able　to　make　it　to
  the　party　tomorrow。　You　understand　don’t　you？　I’m　sure　it’ll
  be　lovely；