Free The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger Page B

and I couldn’t take it in fast enough. There was a
Bobby Brown makeup set from Bobby Brown herself, a one-of-a-kind leather Kate
Spade handbag from Kate and Andy Spade, a Smythson of Bond Street burgundy
leather organizer from Graydon Carter, a mink-lined sleeping bag from Miuccia
Prada, a multistrand beaded Verdura bracelet from Aerin Lauder, a
diamond-encrusted watch from Donatella Versace, a case of champagne from
Cynthia Rowley, a matching beaded tank top and evening bag from Mark Badgley
and James Mischka, a collection of Cartier pens from Irv Ravitz, a chinchilla muffler
from Vera Wang, a zebra-print jacket from Alberto Ferretti, a Burberry cashmere
blanket from Rosemarie Bravo. And that was just the start. There were handbags
in every shape and size from everyone: Herb Ritts, Bruce Weber, Giselle
Bundchen, Hillary Clinton, Tom Ford, Calvin Klein, Annie Leibovitz, Nicole
Miller, Adrienne Vittadini, Michael Kors, Helmut Lang, Giorgio Armani, John
Sahag, Bruno Magli, Mario Testino, and Narcisco Rodriguez, to name a few. There
were dozens of donations made in Miranda’s name to various charities,
what must have been a hundred bottles of wine and champagne, eight or ten Dior
bags, a couple dozen scented candles, a few pieces of Oriental pottery, silk
pajamas, leather-bound books, bath products, chocolates, bracelets, caviar,
cashmere sweaters, framed photographs, and enough flower arrangements and/or
potted plants to decorate one of those five-hundred-couple mass weddings they
have in soccer stadiums in China. Ohmigod! Was this reality? Was this actually
happening? Was I now working for a woman who received 256 presents at Christmas
from some of the world’s most famous people? Or not so famous? I
wasn’t sure. I recognized a few of the really obvious celebrities and
designers, but didn’t know then that the others comprised some of the
most sought-after photographers, makeup artists, models, socialites, and a
whole slew of Elias-Clark executives. Just as I was wondering if Emily actually
knew who all the people were, she walked back in. I tried to pretend I
wasn’t reading the list, but she didn’t mind at all.
     
     “Crazy,
isn’t it? She is the coolest woman ever,” she gushed, snatching the
sheets off her desk and gazing at them with what can only be described as lust.
“Have you ever seen more amazing things in your life? This is last
year’s list. I just pulled it out so we know what to expect since the
gifts have begun coming in already. That’s definitely one of the best
parts of the job—opening all her presents.” I was confused.We
opened her presents? Why wouldn’t she open them herself? I asked as much.
     
     “Are
you out of your mind? Miranda won’t like ninety percent of the stuff
people send. Some of it is downright insulting, things I won’t even show
her. Like this,” she said, picking up a small box. It was a Bang and
Olufsen portable phone in their signature sleek silver with all rounded edges
and the capability to remain clear for something like 2,000 miles. I had been
in the store just a couple weeks earlier, watching Alex salivate over their
stereo systems, and I knew the phone cost upward of five hundred dollars and
could do everything short of holding a conversationfor you. “A phone? Do
you believe someone had the nerve to send Miranda Priestly aphone ?” She
tossed it to me. “Keep it if you want it: I would never even let her see
this. She’d be annoyed that someone sent somethingelectronic .” She
pronounced the word “electronic” as though it were synonymous with
“covered in bodily fluids.”
     
     I tucked
the phone box under my desk and tried to keep the smile off my face. It was too
perfect! A portable phone was on my list of stuff that I still needed for my
new room, and I’d just gotten a five-hundred-dollar one for free.
     
     “Actually,”
she continued, flopping down again on the floor of Miranda’s office,
Indian-style, “let’s put in a few