Free The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger Page A

this computer game, I’m on my way to Oscar de la Renta’s
apartment on Park Avenue to drop all the stuff off. No, it’s not for him!
Miranda’s in the DR and Annette’s flying there to meet them all
tonight. On a private plane, yes! Dad! It stands for the Dominican Republic, of
course!”
     
     He
sounded wary but pleased that I was so happy, and I came to decide that I was
hired as college-educated messenger. Which was absolutely fine with me. After
leaving the bag of Tommy clothes, the hot pants, and the computer game with a
very distinguished-looking doorman in a very plush Park Avenue lobby (so this
is what people mean when they talk about Park Avenue!), I headed back to the
Elias-Clark building. When I walked into my office area, Emily was sitting
Indian-style on the floor, wrapping presents in plain white paper with white
ribbons. She was surrounded by mountains of red-and-white boxes, all identical
in shape, hundreds, perhaps thousands, scattered between our desks and
overflowing into Miranda’s office. Emily was unaware that I was watching
her, and I saw that it took her only two minutes to wrap each individual box
perfectly and an additional fifteen seconds to tie on a white satin ribbon. She
moved efficiently, not wasting a single second, piling the wrapped white boxes
in new mountains behind her. The wrapped pile grew and grew, but the unwrapped
pile didn’t shrink. I estimated that she could be at it for the next four
days and still not finish.
     
     I called
her name over the eighties CD she had playing from her computer. “Um,
Emily? Hi, I’m back.”
     
     She
turned toward me and for a brief moment appeared to have no idea who I was.
Completely blank. But then my new-girl status came rushing back.
“How’d it go?” she asked quickly. “Did you get
everything on the list?”
     
     I
nodded.
     
     “Even
the video game? When I called, there was only one copy left. It was
there?”
     
     I nodded
again.
     
     “And
you gave it all to the de la Rentas’ doorman on Park? The clothes, the
shorts, everything?”
     
     “Yep.
No problem. It went very smoothly, and I dropped it all off a few minutes ago.
I was wondering, will Miranda actually wear those—”
     
     “Listen,
I need to run to the bathroom and I’ve been waiting for you to get back.
Just sit by the phone for a minute, OK?”
     
     “You
haven’t gone to the bathroom since I left?” I asked incredulously.
It had been five hours. “Why not?”
     
     Emily
finished tying the ribbon on the box she had just wrapped and looked at me
coolly. “Miranda doesn’t tolerate anyone except her assistants
answering her phone, so since you weren’t here, I didn’t want to
go. I suppose I could have run out for a minute, but I know she’s having
a hectic day, and I want to make sure that I’m always available to her.
So no, we do not go to the bathroom—or anywhere else—without
clearing it with each other. We need to work together to make sure that we are
doing the best job possible for her. OK?”
     
     “Sure,”
I said. “Go ahead. I’ll be right here.” She turned and walked
away, and I put my hand on the desk to steady myself. No going to the bathroom
without a coordinated war plan? Did she really sit in that office for the past
five hours willing her bladder to behave because she worried that a woman
across the Atlantic may call in the two and a half minutes it would take to run
to the ladies’ room? Apparently so. It seemed a little dramatic, but I
assumed that was just Emily being overly enthusiastic. There was no way that
Miranda actually demanded that of her assistants. I was sure of it. Or did she?
     
     I picked
up a few sheets of paper from the printer and saw that it was titled
“X-Mas Presents Received.” One, two, three, four, five,six
single-spaced pages of gifts, with sender and item on one line each. Two
hundred and fifty-six presents in all. It looked like a wedding registry for
the Queen of England,