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particularly ridiculous。 I have to run。 Caroline just smashed one of
Miranda’s Stila lipsticks into the bathroom mirror for no apparent
reason。”
“Our lives rock； don’t they？ We’re the coolest girls。 Anyway； thanks
for the heads up。 Talk to you later。”
“OK； ’bye。”
I glanced over the memo while I waited for B…DAD’s arrival。 It was a
request to the board of trustees of the Metropolitan Museum of Art
from Miranda。 She was asking permission to throw a dinner party in
one of the galleries in March for her brother…in…law； a man I could
tell she absolutely despised but who was； unfortunately； family。
Jack Tomlinson was B…DAD’s younger and wilder brother； and he’d just
announced he was leaving his wife and three children and marrying
his masseuse。 Although he and B…DAD were both quintessential East
Coast prep school aristocracy； Jack had shed his Harvard persona in
his late twenties and moved to South Carolina； where he’d
immediately made a fortune in real estate。 Judging from everything
Emily had told me； he’d morphed into a first…class Southern boy； a
real straw…chewin’； tobacco…spittin’ hick； which of course appalled
Miranda； the epitome of class and sophistication。 B…DAD had asked
Miranda to organize an engagement party for his baby brother； and
Miranda； blinded by love； had no choice but to oblige。 And if she
had to do something； then she sure as hell was going to do it right。
And right was at the Met。
Dear Honored Members； blah； blah； blah； would like to request
permission to host a fabulous little soiree； blah； blah； blah； will
be hiring only the finest caterers； florists； and band； of course；
blah； blah； blah； would wele your input； blah； blah。 Making sure
one last time that there were no glaring errors； I quickly forged
her name and called for a messenger to e pick it up。
The knock on the office suite door—which I kept closed this early in
the morning since no one was in yet anyway—came almost immediately；
and I was impressed with their turnaround time； but the door swung
open to reveal B…DAD； who was sporting a grin much too enthusiastic
for pre…eightA。M 。
“Andrea；” he sang； immediately walking over to my desk and smiling
so genuinely it made me feel guilty for not liking him。
“Good morning； Mr。 Tomlinson。 What brings you here so early？” I
asked。 “I’m sorry to tell you that Miranda’s not in yet。”
He chuckled； his nose twitching like a rodent’s。 “Yes； yes； she
won’t be in until after lunch； or so I believe。 Andy； it really has
been too long since you and I caught up。 Tell Mr。 T。 now： How is
everything？”
“Here； let me take those；” I said； pulling the monogrammed duffel
full of Miranda’s dirty clothes that she’d given him to give to me。
I also relieved him of the beaded Fendi tote bag that had surfaced
again recently。 It was a one…of…a…kind tote that had been
hand…beaded in an elaborate crystal design just for Miranda from
Silvia Venturini Fendi； as a thank…you for all of her support； and
one of the fashion assistants had put its value at just under ten
grand。 But I noticed today that one of the skinny leather handles
had broken loose yet again； even though the accessories department
had returned it to Fendi for hand…stitching two dozen times already。
It was intended to hold a delicate ladies’ wallet； perhaps
acpanied by a pair of sunglasses or maybe； if absolutely
necessary； a small Cell Phone。 Miranda didn’t really care about
that。 She had currently crammed in an extra…large bottle of Bulgari
perfume； a sandal with a broken heel that I was probably supposed to
get fixed； the blotter…size Hermès daily planner that weighed more
than an entire laptop； an oversize spiked dog collar that I thought
either belonged to Madelaine or was for an uping fashion shoot；
and the Book I had delivered to her the night before。 I would have
hocked a bag worth ten thousand dollars and paid my rent for a year；
but Miranda preferred to use it as a trash receptacle。
“Thank you； Andy。 You really are a big help to everyone。 So Mr。 T。
would sure like to hear more about your life。 What’s going on？”
What’s going on？What’s going on？Hmm； well； let’s see here。 Really
not all that much； I suppose。 I spend most of my time trying to
survive my term of indentured servitude with your sadistic wife。 If
there are ever any free minutes during the workday when she’s not
making some belittling demand； then I’m trying to block out the
brainwash drivel that’s spoon…fed to me by her assistant in chief。
On the increasingly rare occasions that I find myself outside the
confines of this magazine； I’m usually trying to convince myself
that it really is OK to eat more than eight hundred calories a day
and that being a size six does not put me in the plus…size category。
So I guess the short answer is； not much。
“Well； Mr。 Tomlinson； not too much。 I work a lot。 And I guess when
I’m not working I hang out with my best friend； or my boyfriend。 Try
to see my family。”I used to read a lot； I wanted to say；but I’m too
tired now。 And sports have always been a pretty big part of my life；
but there wasn’t time anymore。
“So； you’re twenty…five； right？” He non…sequitured。 I couldn’t even
imagine where he was going with this one。
“Uh； no； I’m twenty…three。 I only graduated last May。”
“Ah…hah！ Twenty…three； huh？” He looked like he was trying to decide
whether to say something or not。 I braced myself。 “So tell Mr。 T。；
what do twenty…three…year…olds do in this city for fun？ Restaurants？
Clubs？ That sort of thing？” He smiled again； and I wondered if he
really needed the attention as much as he appeared to： there was
nothing sinister behind his interest； just a seemingly driving need
totalk 。
“Um； well； all sorts of things； I guess。 I don’t really go to clubs；
but bars and lounges and places like that。 Go out for dinner； see
movies。”
“Well； that sounds like a lot of fun。 Used to do that kind of stuff；
too； when I was your age。 Now it’s just a lot of work events and
fund…raisers。 Enjoy it while you can； Andy。” He winked like a dorky
father would。
“Yeah； well； I’m trying；” I managed。Please leave； please leave；
please leave； I willed； staring longingly at the bagel that was just
calling my name。 I get three minutes of peace and quiet a day； and
this man was stealing all of it。
He opened his mouth to say something； but the doors swung open and
Emily stomped in。 She was wearing her headphones and moving to the
music。 I watched her mouth drop open when she saw him standing
there。
“Mr。 Tomlinson！” she exclaimed； yanking off her headphones and
tossing her iPod in her Gucci tote。 “Is everything OK？ Nothing’s
wrong with Miranda； is it？” She looked and sounded genuinely
concerned。 An A…plus performance： always the perfectly attentive；
unfailingly polite assistant。
“Hello there； Emily。 Nothing wrong at all。 Miranda will be here
shortly。 Mr。 T。 just came by to drop off her things。 How are you
doing today？”
Emily beamed。 I wondered if she actually enjoyed his presence。 “Just
fine。 Thanks so much for asking。 And you？ Did Andrea help you with
everything？”
“Oh； she sure did；” he said； throwing smile number 6；000 in my
direction。 “I wanted to go over a few things about my brother’s
engagement party； but I realize that it’s probably a little early
for that； right？”
For a moment I thought he meant too early in the morning and I
almost shouted “Yes！” but then I realized that he meant it was too
early in the planning to discuss details。
He turned back to Emily and said； “You’ve got yourself a great
junior assistant here； don’t you think？”
“Absolutely；” Emily managed through clenched teeth。 “She’s the
best。” She grinned。
I grinned。
Mr。 Tomlinson grinned with extra wattage； and I wondered if he had a
chemical imbalance； perhaps hypomania。
“Well； Mr。 T。 had better be on his way。 It’s always lovely chatting
with you girls。 Have a nice morning； both of you。 Good…bye now。”
“’Bye； Mr。 Tomlinson！” Emily called as he rounded the corner in the
hallway on his way to reception。
“Why were you so rude to him？” she asked as she pulled the flimsy
leather blazer off； only to reveal a flimsier chiffon scoop…neck
that was laced all the way up the front like a corset。
“So rude？ I helped him unload her stuff and I talked to him before
you got here。 How is that rude？”
“Well； you didn’t say good…bye； for one thing。 And you have that
look on your face。”
“That loo