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panini stand that actually resembled a makeup counter； was the
single； lone soup station。 Lone because the soup chef was the only
one in the entire dining room who refused to make a single one of
his offerings low fat； reduced fat； fat…free； low sodium； or low
carb。 He simply refused。 As a result； his was the single table in
the entire room without a line； and I sprinted directly toward him
every day。 Since it appeared that I was the only one in the entire
pany who actually bought soup—and I’d only been there a week—the
higher…ups had slashed his menu to a solitary soup per day。 I prayed
for tomato cheddar。 Instead； he ladled out a giant cup of New
England clam chowder； proudly declaring it was made with heavy
cream。 Three people at Greens turned to stare。 The only obstacle
left was dodging the crowds around the chef’s table； where a
visiting chef in full whites was arranging large chunks of sashimi
for what appeared to be adoring fans。 I read the nametag on his
starched white collar： Nobu Matsuhisa。 I made a mental note to look
him up when I got upstairs； since I seemed to be the only employee
in the place who wasn’t fawning all over him。 Was it worse to have
never heard of Mr。 Matsuhisa or Miranda Priestly？
The petite cashier looked first at the soup and then at my hips when
she rang me up。 Or had she？ I’d already grown accustomed to being
looked up and down every time I went anywhere； and I could’ve sworn
she was looking at me with the same expression I would’ve given a
five…hundred…pound person with eight Big Macs arrayed in from of
him： the eyes raised just enough as if to ask； “Do youreally need
that？” But I brushed my paranoia aside and reminded myself that the
woman was simply a cashier in a cafeteria； not a Weight Watchers
counselor。 Or a fashion editor。
“So。 Not many people buying the soup these days；” she said quietly；
punching numbers on the register。
“Yeah； I guess not that many people like New England clam chowder；”
I mumbled； swiping my card and willing her hands to move faster；
faster。
She stopped and turned her narrowed brown eyes directly toward mine。
“No； I think it’s because the soup chef insists on making these
really fattening things—do you have any idea how many calories are
in that？ Do you have any idea how fattening that little cup of soup
is？ I’m just saying is； someone could put on ten pounds from just
looking at it—”And you’re not one who could afford to gain ten
pounds； she implied。
Ouch。 As if it hadn’t been hard enough convincing myself that I was
a normal weight for a normal height as all the tall； willowyRunway
blondes had openly examined me； now thecashier was—for all intents
and purposes—telling me I was fat？ I snatched my takeout bag and
pushed past the people； and walked into the bathroom that was
conveniently located directly outside the dining room； where one
could purge any earlier bingeing problems。 And even though I knew
that the mirror would reveal nothing more or less than it had that
morning； I turned to face it head on。 A twisted； angry face stared
back at me。
“What the hell are you doing here？” Emily all but shouted at my
reflection。 I whipped around in time to see her hanging her leather
blazer through the handle of the Gucci logo tote； as she pushed her
sunglasses on top of her head。 It occurred to me that Emily had
meant what she’d said three and a half hours before quite literally：
she’d gone out for lunch。 As in； outside。 As in； left me all alone
for three straight hours with no warning； practically tethered to a
phone line with no hopes of food or bathroom breaks。 As in； none of
that mattered because I still knew I was wrong to leave and I was
about to get screamed at for it by someone my own age。 Blessedly；
the door swung open and the editor in chief ofCoquette strode in。
She looked us both up and down as Emily grabbed my arm and steered
me out of the bathroom and toward the elevator。 We stood like that
together； her clutching my arm and me feeling as though I’d just wet
the bed。 We were living one of those scenes where the kidnapper puts
a gun to a woman’s back in broad daylight and quietly threatens her
as he leads her to his basement of torture。
“How could you do this to me？” she hissed as she pushed me
throughRunway ’s reception…area doors and we hurtled together back
to our desks。 “As the senior assistant； I am responsible for what
goes on in our office。 I know you’re new； but I’ve told you from the
very first day： we do not leave Miranda unattended。”
“But Miranda’s not here。” It came out as a squeak。
“But she could’ve called while you were gone and no one would’ve
been here to answer the goddamn phone！” she screamed as she slammed
the door to our suite。 “Our first priority—our only priority—is
Miranda Priestly。 Period。 And if you can’t deal with that； just
remember that there are millions of girls who would die for your
job。 Now check your voice mail。 If she called； we’re dead。You’re
dead。”
I wanted to crawl inside my iMac and die。 How could I have screwed
up so badly during my very first week？ Miranda wasn’t even in the
office and I’d already let her down。 So what if I was hungry？ It
could wait。 There were genuinely important people trying to get
things done around here； people who depended on me； and I’d let them
down。 I dialed my mailbox。
“Hi； Andy； it’s me。” Alex。 “Where are you？ I’ve never heard you not
answer。 Can’t wait for dinner tonight—we’re still on； right？
Anywhere you want； your pick。 Call me when you get this； I’ll be in
the faculty lounge anytime after four。 Love you。” I immediately felt
guilty； because I’d already decided after the whole lunch debacle
that I’d rather reschedule。 My first week had been so crazy that
we’d barely seen each other； and we’d made a special plan to have
dinner that night； just the two of us。 But I knew I wouldn’t be any
fun if I fell asleep in my wine； and I kind of wanted a night to
unwind and be alone。 I’d have to remember to call and see if we
could do it the next night。
Emily was standing over me； having already checked her own voice
mail。 From her relatively calm face； I guessed that Miranda had not
left her any death threats。 I shook my head to indicate that I
hadn’t gotten one from her yet。
“Hi； Andrea； it’s Cara。” Miranda’s nanny。 “So； Miranda called here a
little while ago”—heart stoppage—“and said she’s tried the office
and no one was picking up。 I figured something was going on down
there； so I told her that I’d spoken to both you and Emily just a
minute before； but don’t worry about it。 She wanted aWomen’s Wear
Daily faxed to her； and I had a copy right here。 Already confirmed
that she got it； too； so don’t stress。 Just wanted to let you know。
Anyway； have a good weekend。 I’ll talk to you later。 ’Bye。”
lifesaver。 The girl was an absolute saint。 It was hard to believe
I’d only known her a week—and not even in person； only over the
phone—because I thought I was in love with her。 She was the opposite
of Emily in every regard： calm； grounded； and entirely
fashion…oblivious。 She recognized Miranda’s absurdity but didn’t
begrudge her it； she had that rare； charming quality of being able
to laugh at herself and everyone else。
“Nope； not her；” I told Emily； lying sort of but not really； smiling
triumphantly。 “We’re in the clear。”
“You’rein the clear； this time；” she said flatly。 “Just remember
that we’re in this together； but I am in charge。 You’ll cover for me
if I want to go out to lunch once in a while—I’m entitled。 This will
never happen again； right？”
I bit back the urge to say something nasty。 “Right；” I said。
“Right。”
We’d managed to finish wrapping the rest of the bottles and get them
all to the messengers by seven that night； and Emily didn’t mention
the office…abandonment issue again。 I finally fell into a taxi （just
this one time） at eight； and was spread…eagle； still fully dressed；
on top of my covers at ten。 And I still hadn’t eaten because I
couldn’t bear the thought of going out in search of food and getting
lost again； as I had the past four nights； in my own neighborhood。 I
called Lily to plain on my brand…new Bang and Olufsen phone。
“Hi！ I thought you and Alex had a date tonight；” she said。
“Yeah； we did； but I’m dead。 He’s fine with doing it tomorrow night；
and I think I’ll just order。 Whatever。 How was your day？”
“I have one word： screwed up。 OK； so that was two。 You’ll nev