Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont
call from one of Karl Lagerfeld’s assistants at six A.M., which is precisely when I’d discovered that all of Miranda’s phone calls were being routed directly to my room for answering. It appeared the entire city and surrounding area knew Miranda stayed here during the shows, and so my phone had been ringing incessantly since the moment I stepped inside. Never mind the two dozen messages that had already been left on the voice mail.
‘Hi, it’s me. How’s Miranda doing? Is everything OK? Did anything go wrong yet? Where is she and why aren’t you with her?’
‘Hey, Em! Thanks for caring. How are you feeling, by the way?’
‘What? Oh, I’m fine. A little weak, but getting better. Whatever. How is she?’
‘Yes, well, I’m fine, too, thanks for asking. Yes, it was a long flight to get here and I haven’t slept for more than twenty minutes at a time since the phone keeps ringing and I’m pretty sure it’s never going to stop, and, oh! I gave a completely impromptu speech – after writing an impromptu speech – to a group of people who wanted Miranda’s company but apparently weren’t interesting enough to warrant it. Looked like a giant fucking idiot, actually, and nearly gave myself a heart attack in the process, but hey, other than that, things are just great.’
‘Andrea! Be serious! I’ve been really worried about everything. There wasn’t a lot of time to prepare for this, and you know that if anything goes wrong over there she’s going to blame me anyway.’
‘Emily. Please don’t take this personally, but I can’t talk to you right now. I just can’t do it.’
‘Why? Is something wrong? How did her meeting go yesterday? Did she get there on time? Do you have everything you need? Are you making sure to wear appropriate clothes? Remember, you’re representing Runway over there, so you always have to look the part.’
‘Emily. I need to hang up now.’
‘Andrea! I’m concerned. Tell me what you’ve been doing.’
‘Well, let’s see. In all the free time I’ve had, I’ve gotten a half-dozen or so massages, two facials, and a few manicures. Miranda and I have really bonded over doing the whole spa thing together. It’s great fun. She’s really trying hard not to be too demanding, says she really wants me to enjoy Paris since it’s such a wonderful city and I’m lucky to be here. So basically we just hang out and have fun. Drink great wine. Shop. You know, the usual.’
‘Andrea! This is really not funny, OK? Now tell me what the hell is going on.’ With every degree more annoyed she sounded, my mood improved a notch.
‘Emily, I’m not sure what to tell you. What do you want to hear? How it’s been so far? Let’s see, I’ve spent most of my time trying to figure out how best to sleep through a phone that won’t stop ringing while simultaneously shoving enough food down my throat between the hours of two and six A.M. to sustain me for the remaining twenty hours. It’s like fucking Ramadan here, Em – no eating during daylight hours. Yeah, you should be really sorry you’re missing this one.’
The other line began blinking and I put Emily on hold. Every time it rang my mind went quickly, uncontrollably, to Alex, wondering if he just might call and say that everything was going to be just fine. I’d called twice on my international cell since I’d arrived and he’d answered both times, but like the expert prank caller I’d been in junior high, I’d hung up the moment I’d heard his voice. It’d been the longest we’d ever gone without talking and I wanted to hear what was going on, but I also couldn’t help feeling like life had gotten significantly simpler since we’d taken a break from the bickering and the guilt-mongering. Still, I held my breath until I heard Miranda’s voice screeching from across the wires.
‘Ahn-dre-ah, when is Lucia due to arrive?’
‘Oh, hello, Miranda. Let me just check the itinerary I have for her. Here it is. Let’s see, it says here that she was flying in directly from the shoot in Stockholm today. She should be at the hotel.’
‘Connect me.’
‘Yes, Miranda, just a moment, please.’
I put her on hold and switched back to Emily. ‘That’s her, hold on.’
‘Miranda? I just found Lucia’s number. I’ll connect you now.’
‘Wait, Ahn-dre-ah. I’ll be leaving the hotel in twenty minutes for the rest of the day. I’ll need some scarves before I return, and a new chef. He should have a minimum of ten years’ experience in mostly French restaurants and be available for family dinners four nights a week and dinner parties twice a month. Now connect me to Lucia.’
I knew I should’ve gotten hung up on the fact that Miranda wanted me to hire her a New York chef from Paris, but all I could focus on was that she was leaving the hotel – without me, and for the entire day. I clicked back to Emily and told her that Miranda needed a new chef.
‘I’ll work on it, Andy,’ she announced while coughing. ‘I’ll do some preliminary screening and then you can talk to a few of the finalists. Just find out if Miranda would like to wait until she gets home to meet them or if she’d prefer if you arranged for a couple to fly there and meet with her now, OK?’
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Well, of course I’m serious. Miranda hired Cara when she was in Marbella last year. Their last nanny had just quit and she had me fly three finalists to her so she could find someone right away. Just find out, OK?’
‘Sure,’ I muttered. ‘And thanks.’
Just talking about those massages had sounded so good, I decided to book one for myself. There wasn’t an appointment available until early evening, so I called room service in the meantime and ordered a full breakfast. When the butler delivered it to me, I’d already crawled back into one of the plush robes, donned a pair of the matching slippers, and prepared myself to feast on the omelet, croissants, Danishes, muffins, potatoes, cereal, and crepes that arrived smelling so good. After devouring all the food and two cups of tea, I waddled back to the bed I hadn’t really slept in the night before and fell asleep so quickly that I wondered if someone had slipped something in my orange juice.
The massage was the perfect way to top off what had been a blessedly relaxed day. Everyone else was doing my work for me, and Miranda had only called and woken me once – once! – to request that I make her a lunch reservation the following day. This isn’t so bad, I thought, as the woman’s strong hands kneaded my twisted neck muscles. Not a bad perk at all. But just as I started to drift off once again, the cell phone that I’d grudgingly brought along began its persistent ring.
‘Hello?’ I said brightly, as if I weren’t lying naked on a table covered in oil, half-asleep.
‘Ahn-dre-ah. Move my hair and makeup earlier and tell the Ungaro people I can’t make it tonight. I’ll be attending a small cocktail party instead, and I expect you to come with me. Be ready to leave in an hour.’
‘Um, sure, uh, sure,’ I stammered, trying to process the fact that I was actually going somewhere with her. A flashback from yesterday – the last time I was told at the very last minute that I was to go somewhere with her – flooded my brain, and I felt as though I would hyperventilate. I thanked the woman and charged the massage to the room even though I’d made it through only the first ten minutes, and I ran upstairs to figure out how to best maneuver around this newest obstacle. This was getting old. Quickly.
It took just a few minutes to page Miranda’s hair and makeup people (who, incidentally, were different from my own – I was pieced together by an angry-looking woman whose look of despair on seeing me for the first time haunted me still, while Miranda had a pair of gay guys who looked like they stepped directly out of the pages of Maxim) and change her appointment.
‘No problem,’ Julien squealed in a thick French accent. ‘We will be there, how you say? Wearing bells! We clear our schedules this week just in the case that Madame Priestly need us at different times!’