Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection

  ‘Ahn-dre-ah!’

  ‘Yes, Miranda?’ I stopped in my tracks and turned to face her.

  ‘I expect the restaurant review I asked you for is on my desk?’

  ‘Um, well, actually, I’ve had a little trouble locating it. You see, I’ve spoken to all the papers and it seems none of them have run a review of an Asian fusion restaurant in the past few days. Do you, uh, happen to remember the name of the restaurant?’ Without realizing it, I was holding my breath and bracing for the onslaught.

  It appeared my explanation held little interest for her, because she had resumed walking toward her office. ‘Ahn-dre-ah, I already told you that it was in the Post – is it really that difficult to find?’ And with that, she was gone. The Post? I’d spoken to their restaurant reviewer just that morning and he had sworn there were no reviews that fit my description – nothing noteworthy had opened that week whatsoever. She was cracking up, for sure, and I was the one who was going to get blamed.

  The coffee run took only a few minutes since it was midday, so I felt free to tack on an extra ten minutes to call Alex, who would be having lunch at exactly twelve-thirty. Thankfully, he answered his cell phone, so I didn’t have to deal with any of the teachers again.

  ‘Hey babe, how’s your day going?’ He sounded cheerful to the point of excess, and I had to remind myself not to be irritated.

  ‘Awesome so far, as always. I really do love it here. I’ve spent the past five hours researching an imaginary article that was dreamed up by a delusional woman who would probably rather take her own life than admit she’s wrong. What about you?’

  ‘Well, I’ve had a great day. Remember I told you about Shauna?’ I nodded into the phone even though he couldn’t see me. Shauna was one of his little girls who had yet to utter a single word in class, and whether he threatened her or bribed her or worked with her one on one, Alex couldn’t get her to talk. He’d been near-hysterical the first time she’d shown up in his class, placed there by a social worker who’d discovered that even though she was nine years old she’d never been in the inside of a school, and he’d been obsessed with helping her ever since.

  ‘Well, it seems she won’t shut up! All it took was a little singing. I had a folk singer come in today to play the guitar for the kids, and Shauna was singing away. And once she broke the ice, she’s been jabbering away with everyone since. She knows English. She has an age-appropriate vocabulary. She’s completely and totally normal!’ His obvious elation made me smile, and all of a sudden I started to miss him. Miss him in the way that you do when you’ve seen someone frequently and regularly but haven’t really connected with him in any significant way. It had been great to surprise him the night before, but, as usual, I’d been too frazzled to be much company. We both inherently understood that we were just waiting out my sentence, waiting for me to complete my year of servitude, waiting until everything went back to the way it was. But I still missed him. And I still felt not a little guilty for the whole Christian situation.

  ‘Hey, congratulations! Not that you needed a testament to the fact that you’re a great teacher, but you got one anyway! You should be thrilled.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s exciting.’ I could hear the bell ring in the background.

  ‘Listen, is that offer still open for a date tonight – just you and me?’ I asked, hoping he hadn’t made plans yet but expecting that he had. As I’d pulled myself out of bed this morning and dragged my exhausted and sore body into the shower, he’d called out that he wanted to just rent a movie, order some food, and hang out. I’d mumbled something unnecessarily sarcastic about it not being worth his time because I wouldn’t get home until late and would just fall asleep, and at least one of us should have a life and enjoy their Friday night. I wanted to tell him now that I was angry at Miranda, at Runway, at myself, but not at him, and that there was nothing I’d rather do than curl up on the couch and cuddle for fifteen straight hours.

  ‘Sure.’ He sounded surprised, but pleased. ‘Why don’t I just wait at your place and then we can figure out what we want to do? I’ll just hang out with Lily until you get home.’

  ‘Sounds absolutely perfect. You can hear all about Freudian Boy.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Never mind. Listen, I’ve got to run. The Queen will wait for coffee no longer. See you tonight – can’t wait.’

  Eduardo allowed me upstairs after chanting only two refrains – my choice – of ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire,’ and Miranda was talking animatedly when I set down her coffee spread on the left-hand corner of her desk. I spent the rest of the afternoon arguing with every assistant and editor I could reach at the New York Post, trying to insist that I knew their paper better than they did, and could I please just have one little copy of the Asian fusion restaurant review they’d run the day before?

  ‘Ma’am, I’ve told you a dozen times and I’ll tell you again: we did not review any such restaurant. I know Ms Priestly is a crazy woman and I don’t doubt that she’s making your life a living hell, but I just can’t produce an article that doesn’t exist. Do you understand?’ This had come finally from an associate who, even though he worked on Page Six, had been assigned the task of finding my article to shut me up. He’d been patient and willing, but he’d reached the end of his charity work. Emily was on the other line with one of their freelance food writers, and I’d forced James to call one of his ex-boyfriends who worked in the advertising department there to see if there was anything – anything – he could do. It was already three o’clock the day after she’d requested something, and this was the very first time I hadn’t gotten it immediately.

  ‘Emily!’ Miranda called from inside her deceptively bright office.

  ‘Yes, Miranda?’ we both answered, jumping up to see which one of us she would motion to.

  ‘Emily, I can hear that you just spoke to the people at the Post?’ she said, directing her attention in my direction. The real Emily looked relieved and sat down.

  ‘Yes, Miranda, I just hung up with them. I’ve actually spoken to three different people there and all of them insist that they haven’t reviewed a single new Asian fusion restaurant in Manhattan at any point in the last week. Maybe it was before then?’ I was now tottering in front of her desk with my head bowed just enough so I could stare at the black Jimmy Choo slingbacks with four-inch heels that Jeffy had provided so smugly.

  ‘Manhattan?’ She looked confused and pissed off all at once. ‘Who said anything about Manhattan?’

  It was my time to be confused.

  ‘Ahn-dre-ah, I’ve told you at least five times now that the review was written about a new restaurant in Washington. Since I’ll be there next week, I need you to make a reservation.’ She cocked her head and moved her lips into what can only be described as a wicked smile. ‘What exactly about this project do you find so challenging?’

  Washington? Five times she’d told me the restaurant was in Washington? I don’t think so. She was clearly losing her mind or just taking sadistic pleasure in watching me lose mine. But being the idiot she took me for, I again spoke without thinking.

  ‘Oh, Miranda, I’m fairly certain that the New York Post doesn’t do reviews of restaurants in Washington. It appears they only actually visit and review places new to New York.’

  ‘Is that supposed to be funny, Ahn-dre-ah? Is that your idea of having a sense of humor?’ Her smile had disappeared and she was leaning forward in her seat, looking like a hungry vulture that was impatiently circling its prey.

  ‘Um no, Miranda, I just thought that—’

  ‘Ahn-dre-ah, as I’ve made clear a dozen times already, the review I’m looking for is in the Washington Post. You’ve heard of that little newspaper, right? Just like New York has the New York Times, Washington, D.C., has its own paper, too. See how that works?’ Her voice was now beyond mocking: she was so incredibly patronizing that she was only one step away from actually addressing me in baby talk.

  ‘I’ll get it for you right away,’ I s
tated as calmly as I could and quietly walked out.

  ‘Oh, and Ahn-dre-ah?’ My heart lurched and my stomach wondered if it could take another ‘surprise.’ ‘I expect you to attend the party tonight to greet the guests. That’s all.’

  I looked to Emily, who looked absolutely baffled, her crinkled forehead making her appear as dumbfounded as I felt. ‘Did I hear her correctly?’ I whispered to Emily, who could do nothing but nod and motion for me to come to her side of the suite.

  ‘I was afraid of this,’ she whispered gravely, like a surgeon telling a patient’s family member that they’d found something horrible upon opening the chest cavity.

  ‘She can’t be serious. It’s four o’clock on Friday. The party starts at seven. It’s black tie, for chrissake – there is no way on earth she expects me to go.’ I looked again at my watch in disbelief and tried to remember her exact words.

  ‘Oh, she’s quite serious,’ she said, picking up the phone. ‘I’ll help you, OK? You go find the review in the Washington Post and get her a copy before she leaves – Uri is coming for her soon to take her home for her hair and makeup. I’ll get you a dress and everything else you need for tonight. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.’ She began rapid-fire dialing and whispering urgent-sounding instructions into the phone. I stood and stared, but she waved her hand without looking up and I snapped back to reality.

  ‘Go,’ she whispered, looking at me with a rare hint of sympathy. And I went.

  14

  ‘You can’t show up in a cab,’ Lily said to me as I jabbed helplessly at my eyes with my brand-new Maybelline Great Lash mascara. ‘This is black-tie. Call a car, for chrissake.’ She watched for a minute more and then grabbed the clumpy wand from my hand and tapped my eyelids closed.

  ‘I guess you’re right,’ I sighed, still refusing to accept that my Friday night was to be spent in a formal gown at the Whitney, greeting wealthy-but-still-rednecks from Georgia and North and South Carolina and plastering fake smile after fake smile on my poorly made-up face. The announcement had left me all of three hours to find a dress, buy makeup, get ready, and revamp all my weekend plans, and in the craziness of the situation, I’d forgotten to arrange transportation.

  Luckily, working at one of the biggest fashion magazines in the country (the job a million girls would die for!) has its advantages, and by 4:40 P.M. I was the proud borrower of a knockout floor-length black Oscar de la Renta number, provided kindly by Jeffy, Closet maven and lover of all things feminine (‘Girl, you go black-tie, you go Oscar, and that’s that. Now don’t be shy, take those pants off and try this on for Jeffy.’ I began to unbutton and he shuddered. I asked him if he really found my half-naked body that repulsive, and he said of course not; it was merely my panty lines that he found so disgusting). The fashion assistants had already called in a pair of silver Manolos in my size, and someone in accessories had selected a flashy silver Judith Leiber evening bag with a long, clanking chain. I’d expressed interest in an understated Calvin Klein clutch, but she snorted at the suggestion and handed me the Judith. Stef was debating whether I should wear a choker or a pendant, and Allison, the newly promoted beauty editor, was on the phone with her manicurist, who made office calls.

  ‘She’ll meet you in the conference room at four forty-five,’ Allison said when I picked up my extension. ‘You’re wearing black, right? Insist on Chanel Ruby Red. Just tell her to bill us.’

  The entire office had worked itself up to a nearly hysterical frenzy trying to make me look appropriate for the night’s gala affair. It certainly wasn’t because they all adored me so much and killed themselves trying to help me out; rather, they knew Miranda had mandated the makeover and were eager to prove to her the high level of their taste and class.

  Lily finished her charity makeup lesson and I briefly wondered if I looked ridiculous wearing a floor-length Oscar de la Renta gown and Bonne Belle Lipsmackers in Fudgsicle. Probably, but I had turned down all offers of having a makeup artist come to the apartment. Everyone on staff tried to insist – and none too subtly – but I adamantly refused. Even I had limits.

  I hobbled into the bedroom on my four-inch Manolo stilettos and kissed Alex on the forehead. He barely looked up from the magazine he was reading.

  ‘I’ll definitely be home by eleven, so we can go get some dinner or drinks then, OK? I’m sorry I have to do this, I really am. If you do decide to go out with the guys, call so I can come meet you, OK?’ He had, as promised, come directly from school to spend the night together, and hadn’t been all that thrilled when I’d arrived home with the news that he could definitely have a relaxing night at home but that I wouldn’t be a part of the plans. He was sitting on the balcony off my bedroom, reading an old copy of Vanity Fair we had lying around and drinking one of the beers Lily kept in the fridge for guests. It wasn’t until after I’d explained that I had to work tonight that I even noticed he and Lily weren’t hanging out.

  ‘Where is she?’ I asked. ‘She has no classes, and I know she’s not working Fridays all summer.’

  Alex took a swig of his Pale Ale and shrugged. ‘I’m guessing she’s here. Her door’s closed, but I saw some guy walking around before.’

  ‘Some guy? Could you be a little more descriptive? What guy?’ I wondered if someone had broken in, or perhaps Freudian Boy had finally been invited over.

  ‘I don’t know, but he’s scary-looking. Tattoos, piercings, wife-beater – the whole nine. Can’t imagine where she met this one.’ He took another nonchalant swig.

  I couldn’t imagine where she’d found him, either, considering I’d left her at eleven the night before in the company of a very polite guy named William who, as far as I could see, was not a wife-beater-wearing, tattoo-donning kind of guy.

  ‘Alex, seriously! You’re telling me there’s some thug cruising around my apartment – a thug who may or may not have been invited over – and you don’t care? This is ridiculous! We need to do something,’ I said, getting up from the chair and wondering, as always, if the weight shift was going to cause the balcony to fall off the side of the building.

  ‘Andy, relax. He’s definitely not a thug.’ He flipped a page. ‘He might be a punk-grunge-freak, but he’s not a thug.’

  ‘Great, that’s just fucking great. Now are you going to come see what’s going on, or are you just going to sit there all night?’

  He still refused to look at me, and I finally understood how annoyed he was about tonight. Understandable, entirely, but I was just as irritated to have to work, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. ‘Why don’t you call if you need me?’

  ‘Fine,’ I huffed and made a big production of storming inside. ‘Don’t feel guilty when you find my dismembered body on the bathroom floor. Really, no big deal …’

  I stomped inside and around the apartment for a little while, looking for evidence of this guy’s presence. The only thing that seemed at all out of place was an empty bottle of Ketel One in the sink. Had she really managed to buy, open, and drink an entire bottle of vodka sometime after midnight last night? I knocked on her door. No response. I knocked a little more insistently, and I heard a guy’s voice state the very obvious fact that someone was knocking on the door. When still no one responded, I turned the doorknob.

  ‘Hello? Anyone home here?’ I called out, trying not to look inside the room but only being able to hold out for about five seconds. My eyes skipped over the two pairs of jeans that were tangled up on the floor and the bra that was hanging from the desk chair and the overflowing ashtray that made the room stink like a frat house and went directly to the bed, where my best friend was stretched out on her side, back to me, completely naked. A sickly looking guy with a line of sweat above his lip and a head full of greasy hair blended into her sheets: his dozens of snaking, winding, scary tattoos acted as the perfect camouflage against her green and blue plaid comforter. There was a gold hoop through his eyebrow, much glittering metal from each ear, and two small, rounded spikes coming out of h
is chin. Thankfully he was wearing a pair of boxers, but they looked so dirty and dingy and old that I almost – almost – wished he weren’t. He pulled on his cigarette, exhaled slowly and meaningfully, and nodded in my general direction.

  ‘Yo,’ he said, waving his cigarette toward me. ‘You mind shuttin’ the door there, m’friend?’

  What? ‘M’friend’? Was this sleazy-looking Aussie actually giving me attitude?

  ‘Are you smoking crack?’ I asked, no longer interested in manners of any sort, and not at all scared. He was shorter than me and couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred thirty – as far as I could tell, the worst thing he could do to me at that point would be to touch me. I shuddered when I thought about the myriad ways he’d probably touched Lily, who was still sleeping soundly underneath his protective hover. ‘Who the hell do you think you are? This is my apartment, and I’d like you to leave. Now!’ I added, my courage fueled by the time demands: I had exactly one hour to get gorgeous for the single most stressful night of my career, and dealing with this strung-out freak had not been part of the game plan.

  ‘Duuuuuuuude. Chill out,’ he breathed and inhaled again. ‘It doesn’t look like your friend here wants me to leave …’

  ‘She would want you to leave if she HAPPENED TO BE CONSCIOUS, YOU ASSHOLE!’ I screamed, horrified that Lily had – in all likelihood – had sex with this guy. ‘I assure you, I speak for both of us when I say GET THE FUCK OUT OF OUR APARTMENT!’

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and whipped around to see Alex, looking concerned, checking out the situation. ‘Andy, why don’t you get in the shower and let me take care of this, OK?’ Although no one could call him a big guy, he looked like a pro wrestler compared to the emaciated mess that was currently nuzzling his facial metal against my best friend’s bare back.