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bee like this？
There was no energy left to point out the obvious to him；
namely； that if I left early to e Home； I’d be fired
immediately and my entire year of servitude would have been
for nothing。 I had managed to suppress that awful thought
before it took full form in my mind： that my being there or
not being there would mean absolutely nothing to Lily right
now； since she was unconscious and unaware in a hospital bed。
The options swirled around in my mind。 Perhaps I would stay
just long enough to help with the party and then try to
explain to Miranda what happened and make a plea for my job。
Or； if it appeared that Lily was awake and alert； someone
could explain that I would be on my way as soon as possible；
at that point probably just a couple more days。 And while both
of these explanations sounded somewhat reasonable in the dark
hours of early morning after a long night of dancing and many
glasses of bubbly and a phone call telling me my best friend
was in a a because of her own drunk driving； somewhere down
deep I knew—I knew—that neither of them was。
“Ahn…dre…ah； leave a message at Horace Mann that the girls
will be missing school on Monday because they’ll be in Paris
with me； and make sure you get a list of all the work they’ll
need to make up。 Also； push back my dinner tonight until
eight…thirty； and if they’re not happy about that； then just
cancel it。 Have you located a copy of that book I asked you
for yesterday？ I need four copies—two in French； two in
English—before I meet them at the restaurant。 Oh； and I want a
final copy of the edited menu for tomorrow’s party to reflect
the changes I made。 Make certain that there will be no sushi
of any kind； do you hear me？”
“Yes； Miranda；” I said； scribbling as quickly as possible in
the Smythson notebook the accessories department had
thoughtfully included with my array of bags； shoes； belts； and
jewelry。 We were in the car on our way to the Dior show—my
first—with Miranda spitting out rapid…fire instructions with
no regard for the fact that I’d gotten less than two hours of
sleep。 The knock on my door came at 7：45A 。M。 from one of
Monsieur Renaud’s junior concierges who was there personally
to wake me up and see that I was dressed in time to attend the
show with Miranda； who had herself decided she’d like my
assistance just six minutes earlier。 He had politely ignored
my being quite obviously passed out on the still made bed and
had even dimmed the lights； which had blazed all night。 I had
twenty…five minutes to shower； consult the fashion book； dress
myself； and do my own makeup； since my woman was not scheduled
to e this early。
I awoke with a minor champagne headache； but the real jolt of
pain came when the previous night’s phone calls came flashing
back。 Lily！ I needed to call Alex or my parents and see if
anything had happened in the last couple hours—god； it seemed
like a week ago—but now there was no time。
By the time the elevator had hit the first floor； I’d decided
that I had to stay for one more day； just one lousy day to
tend to this party； and then I’d be Home with Lily。 Maybe I’d
even take a short leave of absence once Emily returned； to
spend some time with Lil； help her recuperate and deal with
some of the inevitable fallout from the accident。 My parents
and Alex would hold down the fort until I got there—it’s not
as though she’s all alone；I told myself。 And this was my life。
My career； my entire future； was on the line here； and I
didn’t see how two days either way made all that much
difference to someone who wasn’t yet conscious。 But to me—and
certainly to Miranda—it made all the difference in the world。
Somehow I’d made it to the backseat of the limo before Miranda
did； and even though her eyes were currently fixating on my
chiffon skirt； she hadn’t yet mented on any one part of the
outfit。 I had just tucked the Smythson book into my Bottega
Venetta bag when my new； international Cell Phone rang。 It had
never rung in Miranda’s presence before； I realized； so I
scrambled quickly to turn off the ringer； but she ordered me
to answer it。
“Hello？” I kept one eye on Miranda； who was paging through the
day’s itinerary and pretending not to listen。
“Andy； hi honey。” Dad。 “Just wanted to give you a quick
update。”
“OK。” I was trying to say the bare minimum； since it seemed
incredibly strange to be talking on the phone in front of
Miranda。
“The doctor just called and said that Lily is showing signs
that indicate she may e out of it soon。 Isn’t that great？ I
thought you’d want to know。”
“That’s great。 Definitely great。”
“Have you decided if you’re ing Home or not？”
“Um； no； I haven’t decided。 Miranda’s having a party tomorrow
night and she definitely needs my help； so 。 。 。 Listen； Dad；
I’m sorry； but now’s not a great time。 Can I call you back？”
“Sure； call anytime。” He tried to sound neutral； but I could
hear the disappointment in his voice。
“Great。 Thanks for calling。 ’Bye。”
“Who was that？” Miranda asked； still peering at her itinerary。
It had just begun raining and her voice was nearly drowned out
by the sound of water hitting the limo。
“Hmm？ Oh； that was my father。 From America。” Where the hell
did I e up with this stuff？ FromAmerica ？
“And what did he want you to do that conflicted with your
working at the party tomorrow night？”
I considered a million potential lies in the course of two
seconds； but there wasn’t enough time to work out the details
of any of them。 Especially when she had turned her full
attention to me now。 I was left with no choice but to tell the
truth。
“Oh； it was nothing。 A friend of mine was in an accident。
She’s in the hospital。 In a a； actually。 And he was just
calling to tell me how she was doing and to see if I was
ing Home。”
She considered this； nodding slowly； and then picked up the
copy of theInternational Herald Tribune paper the driver had
thoughtfully provided。 “I see。” No “I’m sorry；” or “Is your
friend OK？；” just an icy； vague statement and a look of
extreme displeasure。
“But I’m not； I’m definitely not going Home。 I understand how
important it is that I’m at the party tomorrow； and I’ll be
there。 I’ve thought a lot about it； and I want you to know
that I plan to honor the mitment I’ve made to you and to my
job； so I’ll be staying。”
At first Miranda said nothing。 But then she smiled slightly
and said； “Ahn…dre…ah； I’m very pleased with your decision。 It
is absolutely the right thing to do； and I appreciate that you
recognize that。 Ahn…dre…ah； I have to say； I had my doubts
about you from the start。 Clearly； you know nothing about
fashion and more than that； you don’t seem to care。 And don’t
think I’ve failed to notice all the rich and varied ways you
convey to me your displeasure when I ask you to do something
that you’d rather not。 Your petency in the job has been
adequate； but your attitude has been substandard at best。”
“Oh； Miranda； please let me—”
“I’m speaking！ And I was going to say that I’ll be much more
willing to help you get where you’d like to go now that you’ve
demonstrated that you’re mitted。 You should be proud of
yourself； Ahn…dre…ah。” Just when I thought I’d faint from the
length and depth and content of the soliloquy—whether from joy
or from pain； I wasn’t sure—she took it one step further。 In a
move that was so fundamentally out of character for this woman
on every level； she placed her hand on top of the one I had
resting on the seat between us and said； “You remind me of
myself when I was your age。” And before I could conjure up a
single appropriate syllable to utter； the driver screeched to
a halt in front of the Carrousel du Louvre and leapt out to
open the doors。 I grabbed my bag and hers as well and wondered
if this was the proudest or the most humiliating moment of my
life。
My first Parisian fashion show was a blur。 It was dark； that
much I remember； and the music seemed much too loud for such
understated elegance； but the only thing that stands out from
that two…hour window into bizarreness was my own intense
disfort。 The Chanel boots that Jocelyn had so lovingly
selected to go with the outfit—a stretchy and therefore
skintight cashmere sweater by Malo over a chiffon skirt—made
my feet feel like confidential documents being fed through a
shredder。 My head ached from a bination of hangover and