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第12节

时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第12节


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  shock that a skirt would be traveling to the Dominican Republic 
  simply because she’d requested it do so。

  “She didn’t say exactly;” Emily muttered as she picked up the phone。

  “Hi; Jocelyn; it’s me。 She wants a skirt; and I’ll need to have it 
  on Mrs。 de la Renta’s flight tonight; since she’ll be meeting 
  Miranda down there。 No; I have no idea。 No; she didn’t say。 I really 
  don’t know。 OK; thanks。” She turned to me and said; “It makes it 
  more difficult when she’s not specific。 She’s too busy to worry 
  about details like that; so she didn’t say what material or color or 
  style or brand she wants。 But that’s OK。 I know her size; and I 
  definitely know her taste well enough to predict exactly what she’ll 
  like。 That was Jocelyn from the fashion department。 They’ll start 
  calling some in。” I pictured Jerry Lewis presiding over a skirt 
  telethon with a giant scoreboard; drum role; and voilà! Gucci and 
  spontaneous applause。

  Not quite。 “Calling in” the skirts was my very first lesson inRunway 
  ridiculousness; although I do have to say that the process was as 
  efficient as a military operation。 Either Emily or myself would 
  notify the fashion assistants—about eight in all; who each 
  maintained contacts within a specified list of designers and stores。 
  The assistants would immediately begin calling all of their public 
  relations contacts at the various design houses and; if appropriate; 
  at upscale Manhattan stores and tell them that Miranda Priestly—yes; 
  Miranda Priestly; and yes; it was indeed for herpersonal use—was 
  looking for a particular item。 Within minutes; every PR account exec 
  and assistant working at Michael Kors; Gucci; Prada; Versace; Fendi; 
  Armani; Chanel; Barney’s; Chloé; Calvin Klein; Bergdorf; Roberto 
  Cavalli; and Saks would be messengering over (or; in some cases; 
  hand…delivering) every skirt they had in stock that Miranda Priestly 
  could conceivably find attractive。 I watched the process unfold like 
  a highly choreographed ballet; each player knowing exactly where and 
  when and how their next step would occur。 While this near…daily 
  activity unfolded; Emily sent me to pick up a few other things that 
  we’d need to send with the skirt that night。

  “Your car will be waiting for you on Fifty…eighth Street;” she said 
  while working two phone lines and scribbling instructions for me on 
  a piece ofRunway stationery。 She paused briefly to toss me a Cell 
  Phone and said; “Here; take this in case I need to reach you or you 
  have any questions。 Never turn it off。 Always answer it。” I took the 
  phone and the paper and headed down to the 58th Street side of the 
  building; wondering how I was ever going to find “my car。” Or even; 
  really; what that meant。 I had barely stepped on the sidewalk and 
  looked meekly around before a squat; gray…haired man gumming a pipe 
  approached。

  “You Priestly’s new girl?” he croaked through tobacco…stained lips; 
  never removing the mahogany…colored pipe。 I nodded。 “I’m Rich。 The 
  dispatcher。 You wanna car; you talka to me。 Got it; blondie?” I 
  nodded again and ducked into the backseat of a black Cadillac sedan。 
  He slammed the door shut and waved。

  “Where you going; miss?” the driver asked; pulling me back to the 
  present。 I realized I had no idea and pulled the piece of paper from 
  my pocket。

  First stop: Tommy Hilfiger’s studio at 355 West 57th St。; 6th Floor。 
  Ask for Leanne。 She’ll give you everything we need。

  I gave the driver the address and stared out the window。 It was one 
  o’clock on a frigid winter afternoon; I was twenty…three years old; 
  and I was riding in the backseat of a chauffeured sedan; on my way 
  to Tommy Hilfiger’s studio。 And I was positively starving。 It took 
  nearly forty…five minutes to go the fifteen blocks during the 
  midtown lunch hour; my first glimpse of real city gridlock。 The 
  driver told me he’d circle the block until I came out again; and off 
  I went to Tommy’s studio。 When I asked for Leanne at the 
  receptionist’s desk on the sixth floor; an adorable girl not a day 
  older than eighteen came bounding down the stairs。

  “Hi!” she called; stretching out the “I” sound for a few seconds。 
  “You must be Andrea; Miranda’s new assistant。 We sure do love her 
  around here; so wele to the team!” She grinned。 I grinned。 She 
  pulled a massive plastic bag out from underneath a table and 
  immediately spilled its contents on the floor。 “Here we have 
  Caroline’s favorite jeans in three colors; and we threw in some baby 
  T’s; too。 And Cassidy just adores Tommy’s khaki skirts—we gave them 
  to her in olive and stone。” Jean skirts; denim jackets; even a few 
  pair of socks came flying out of the bag; and all I could do was 
  stare: there were enough clothes to constitute four or more total 
  preteen wardrobes。Who the hell are Cassidy and Caroline? I wondered; 
  staring at the loot。 What self…respecting person wears Tommy 
  Hilfiger jeans—in three different colors; no less?

  I must’ve looked thoroughly confused; because Leanne quite purposely 
  turned her back while repacking the clothes and said; “I just know 
  Miranda’s daughters will love this stuff。 We’ve been dressing them 
  for years; and Tommy insists on picking the clothes out for them 
  himself。” I shot her a grateful look and threw the bag over my 
  shoulder。

  “Good luck!” she called as the elevator doors closed; a genuine 
  smile taking up most of her face。 “You’re lucky to have such an 
  awesome job!” Before she could say it; I found myself mentally 
  finishing the sentence—a million girls would die for it。And for that 
  moment; having just seen a famous designer’s studio and in 
  possession of thousands of dollars worth of clothes; I thought she 
  was right。

  Once I got the hang of things; the rest of the day flew。 I debated 
  for a few minutes whether anyone would be mad if I took a minute to 
  pick up a sandwich; but I had no choice。 I hadn’t eaten anything 
  since my croissant at seven this morning; and it was nearly two。 I 
  asked the driver to pull over at a deli and decided at the last 
  minute to get him one; too。 His jaw dropped when I handed him the 
  turkey and honey mustard; and I wondered if I had made him 
  unfortable。

  “I just figured you were hungry; too;” I said。 “You know; driving 
  around all day; you probably don’t have much time for lunch。”

  “Thank you; miss; I appreciate it。 It’s just that I’ve been driving 
  around Elias…Clark girls for twelve years; and they are not so nice。 
  You are very nice;” he said in a thick but indeterminate accent; 
  looking at me in the rearview mirror。 I smiled at him and felt a 
  momentary flash of foreboding。 But then the moment passed and we 
  each munched our turkey wraps while sitting in gridlock and 
  listening to his favorite CD; which sounded to me like little more 
  than a woman shrieking the same thing over and over in an unknown 
  language; the whole thing set to sitar music。

  Emily’s next written instruction was to pick up a pair of white 
  shorts that Miranda desperately needed for tennis。 I figured we’d be 
  headed to Polo; but she had written Chanel。 Chanel made white tennis 
  shorts? The driver took me to the private salon; where an older 
  saleswoman whose facelift had left her eyes looking like slits 
  handed me a pair of white cotton…Lycra hot pants; size zero; pinned 
  to a silk hanger and draped in a velvet garment bag。 I looked at the 
  shorts; which appeared as though they wouldn’t fit a six…year…old; 
  and looked back to the woman。

  “Um; do you really think Miranda will wear these?” I asked 
  tentatively; convinced the woman could open that pit…bull mouth of 
  hers and consume me whole。 She glared at me。

  “Well; I should hope so; miss; considering they’re custom measured 
  and cut; according to her exact specifications;” she snarled as she 
  handed the minishorts over。 “Tell her Mr。 Kopelman sends his 
  best。”Sure; lady。 Whoever that is。

  My next stop was what Emily wrote as “way downtown;” J&R puter 
  World near City Hall。 Seemed it was the only store in the entire 
  city that sold Warriors of the West; a puter game that Miranda 
  wanted to purchase for Oscar and Annette de la Renta’s son; Moises。 
  By the time I made it downtown an hour later; I’d realized that the 
  Cell Phone could make long…distance calls; and I was happily dialing 
  my parents and telling them how great the job was。

  “Um; Dad? Hi; it’s Andy。 Guess where I am now? Yes; of course I’m at 
  work; but that happens to be in the backseat of a chauffeured car 
  cruising around Manhattan。 I’ve already been to Tommy Hilfiger and 
  Chanel; and after I buy th

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