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第80节

时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第80节


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  “Oh; I’m sorry; I; uh; only have American dollars。 Is that 
  OK?”

  His face flushed crimson and he began apologizing profusely。 
  “Oh; no; miss; please do not worry about such things。 Ms。 
  Priestly takes care of these details when she departs。 
  However; since you will be needing local currency when you 
  leave the hotel; allow me to show you this。” He walked over to 
  the behemoth of a desk; slid open the top drawer; and handed 
  me an envelope with FrenchRunway ’s logo on it。 Inside was a 
  pile of euro bills; about 4;000 American dollars’ worth in 
  all。 The note; scribbled by Briget Jardin; the editor in chief 
  who’d borne the brunt of planning and scheduling for both this 
  trip and Miranda’s uping party; read:

  Andrea; darling; delighted to have you join us! Please find 
  enclosed euros for your use while in Paris。 I’ve spoken with 
  Monsieur Renaud and he will be on call for Miranda twenty…four 
  hours a day。 See below for a listing of his work and personal 
  numbers; as well as the numbers for the hotel’s chef; physical 
  fitness trainer; director of transportation; and; of course; 
  the general manager。 They are all familiar with Miranda’s 
  stays during the shows and so there should be no problems。 Of 
  course; I may always be reached at work or; if necessary; by 
  cell; Home phone; fax; or pager if either of you requires 
  anything at all。 If I don’t see you before Saturday’s big 
  soiree; I’ll look forward to meeting you there。 Lots of Love; 
  Briget

  Folded on a sheet ofRunway stationery and tucked underneath 
  the cash was a list of nearly a hundred phone numbers; 
  enpassing everything one could need in Paris; from a chic 
  florist to an emergency surgeon。 These same numbers were 
  repeated on the last page of the detailed itinerary I’d 
  created for Miranda using information Briget had updated daily 
  and faxed over; so as of this moment there didn’t appear to be 
  a single contingency—short of an all…out world war—that would 
  prevent Miranda Priestly from viewing the spring line with the 
  least possible amount of stress; anxiety; and concern。

  “Thank you so much; Stephan。 This is most helpful。” I peeled 
  off a few bills for him anyway; but he courteously pretended 
  not to see it and ducked back into the hallway。 I was pleased 
  to see that he appeared significantly less terrorized than he 
  had just a few moments earlier。

  I somehow managed to find the people she had asked for and 
  figured I had a few minutes to rest my head on the 
  four…hundred…thread…count pillowcase; but the phone rang the 
  moment I closed my eyes。

  “Ahn…dre…ah; e to my room immediately;” she barked before 
  slamming down the phone。

  “Yes; of course; Miranda; thank you for asking so nicely。 It’d 
  be my pleasure;” I said to absolutely nobody。 I heaved my 
  jet…lagged body off the bed and concentrated on not getting a 
  heel stuck in the carpeted hallway that connected my room to 
  hers。 Once again; a maid answered the door when I knocked。

  “Ahn…dre…ah! One of Briget’s assistants just rang me to see 
  how long my speech is for today’s brunch;” she announced。 She 
  was paging through a copy ofWomen’s Wear Daily that someone 
  from the office—probably Allison; who knew the drill from her 
  tenure in Miranda’s office—had faxed earlier; and two 
  beautiful men were working on her hair and makeup。 A cheese 
  plate sat on the antique table beside her。

  Speech? What speech? The only thing besides shows that was on 
  the itinerary today was some sort of awards luncheon that 
  Miranda planned to spend her usual fifteen minutes at before 
  bolting out of sheer boredom。

  “I’m sorry。 Did you say a speech?”

  “I did。” She carefully closed the paper; calmly folded it in 
  half; and then tossed it angrily to the floor; narrowly 
  missing one of the men who knelt in front of her。 “Why the 
  hell was I not informed that I’d be receiving some nonsense 
  award at today’s luncheon?” she hissed; her face contorting 
  with a hatred I’d never seen before。 Displeasure? Sure。 
  Dissatisfaction? All the time。 Annoyance; frustration; 
  generalized unHappiness? Of course; every minute of every day。 
  But I’d never seen her look so downrightpissed off 。

  “Um; Miranda; I’m so sorry; but it was actually Briget’s 
  office that RSVP’d you to the event today; and they never—”

  “Stop speaking。 Stop speaking this instant! All you ever offer 
  me are excuses。You are my assistant;you are the person I 
  designated to work things out in Paris;you are the one who 
  should be keeping me abreast of these things。” She was nearly 
  shouting now。 One of the makeup guys asked softly in English 
  if we would like a moment alone; but Miranda ignored him 
  entirely。 “It’s noon right now and I’ll be needing to leave 
  here in forty…five minutes。 I expect a short; succinct; and 
  articulate speech legibly typed and waiting in my room。 If you 
  cannot acplish this; see yourself Home。Permanently 。 That’s 
  all。”

  I fled down the hallway faster than I’d ever run in heels and 
  whipped open my international Cell Phone before I’d made it 
  into my room。 It was nearly impossible to dial Briget’s work 
  number since my hands were shaking so badly; but somehow the 
  call went through。 One of her assistants answered。

  “I need Briget!” I shrieked; my voice breaking when I 
  pronounced her name。 “Where is she?Where is she? I need to 
  talk to her。Now! ”

  The girl was momentarily shocked into silence。 “Andrea? Is 
  that you?”

  “Yes; it’s me and I need Briget。 It’s an emergency—where the 
  hell is she?”

  “She’s at a show; but don’t worry; she always has her Cell 
  Phone on。 Are you at the hotel? I’ll have her call you right 
  back。”

  The phone on the desk rang a mere few seconds later; but it 
  felt like a week。 “Andrea;” she lilted in her lovely French 
  accent。 “What is it; dear? Monique said you were hysterical。”

  “Hysterical? Damn right I’m hysterical! Briget; how could you 
  do this to me? Your office made the arrangements for this 
  fucking luncheon and no one bothered to tell me that she is 
  not only receiving an award but also expected to give a 
  speech?”

  “Andrea; calm down。 I’m sure we told—”

  “And I have to write it! Are you listening to me? I have 
  forty…five fucking minutes to write an acceptance speech for 
  an award I know nothing about in a language I don’t speak。 Or 
  I’m finished。 What am I going to do?”

  “All right; relax; I’m going to walk you through this。 First 
  of all; the ceremony is right there; at the Ritz; in one of 
  the salons。”

  “The what? Which salon?” I hadn’t had a chance to look around 
  the hotel yet; but I was reasonably sure there weren’t any 
  pubs in the place。

  “It is French for; oh; what do you call them? Meeting rooms。 
  So; she will only need to go downstairs。 It is for the French 
  Council on Fashion; an organization here in Paris that always 
  has its awards during the shows because everyone is in 
  town。Runway will be receiving an award for fashion coverage。 
  It is not such a; how do you say; big deal; almost like a 
  formality。”

  “Great; well at least I know what it’s for。 What exactly am I 
  supposed to write? Why don’t you just dictate in English and I 
  can get Monsieur Renaud to translate it; OK? You start。 I’m 
  ready。” My voice had regained some confidence; but I could 
  still barely grip the pen。 The bination of exhaustion; 
  stress; and hunger was making it hard to focus my eyes on the 
  Ritz stationery that was laid out on my desk。

  “Andrea; you are in luck again。”

  “Oh; really? Because I’m not feeling so lucky right now; 
  Briget。”

  “These things are always conducted in English。 There is no 
  need for translation。 So you can write it; yes?”

  “Yes; yes I’ll write it;” I mumbled and dropped the phone。 
  There wasn’t even time to consider that this was my very first 
  chance to show Miranda that I was capable of doing something 
  more sophisticated than fetching lattes。

  After I hung up and began typing away at sixty words a minute— 
  typing was the only useful class I’d taken in all of high 
  school—I realized the whole thing would only take two; maybe 
  three minutes for Miranda to read。 There was just enough time 
  to gulp some of the Pellegrino and devour a few of the 
  strawberries someone had thoughtfully left on my small bar。If 
  only they could’ve left a cheeseburger; I thought。 I 
  remembered that I had tucked a Twix bar in my luggage that had 
  been neatly piled in the corner; but there wasn’t time to look 
  for it。 Exactly forty minutes had passed since I’d r

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