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stick…shift car—five years； actually； since a high school boyfriend
had volunteered his car up for a few lessons that I’d decidedly
flunked—but Miranda hadn’t seemed to consider that when she’d called
me into her office an hour and a half earlier。
“Ahn…dre…ah； my car needs to be picked up from the place and dropped
off at the garage。 Attend to it immediately； as we’ll be needing it
tonight to drive to the Hamptons。 That’s all。” I stood； rooted to
the carpet in front of her behemoth desk； but she’d already blocked
out my presence entirely。 Or so I thought。 “That’sall； Ahn…dre…ah。
See to it right now；” she added； still not glancing up。
Ah； sure； Miranda；I thought to myself as I walked away； trying to
figure out the first step in the assignment that was sure to have a
million pitfalls along the way。 First was definitely to find out at
which “place” the car was located。 Most likely it was being repaired
at the dealership； but it could obviously be at any one of a million
auto shops in any one of the five boroughs。 Or perhaps she’d lent it
to a friend and it was currently occupying an expensive spot in a
full…service garage somewhere on Park Avenue？ Of course； there was
always the chance that she was referring to a new car—brand
unknown—that she’d just recently purchased that hadn’t yet been
brought Home from the （unknown） dealership。 I had a lot of work to
do。
I started by calling Miranda’s nanny； but her Cell Phone went
straight to voice mail。 The housekeeper was next on the list and；
for once； a big help。 She was able to tell me that the car wasn’t
brand…new and it was in fact a “convertible sports car in British
racing green；” and that it was usually parked in a garage on
Miranda’s block； but she had no idea what the make was or where it
might currently be residing。 Next on the list was Miranda’s
husband’s assistant； who informed me that； as far as she knew； the
couple owned a top…of…the…line black Lincoln Navigator and some sort
of small green Porsche。 Yes！ I had my first lead。 One quick phone
call to the Porsche dealership on Eleventh Avenue revealed that yes；
they had just finished touching up the paint and installing a new
disc…changer in a green Carrera 4 Cabriolet for a Ms。 Miranda
Priestly。 Jackpot！
I ordered a Town Car to take me to the dealership； where I turned
over a note I’d forged with Miranda’s signature that instructed them
to release the car to me。 No one seemed to care whatsoever that I
was in no way related to this woman； that some stranger had cruised
into the place and requested someone else’s Porsche。 They tossed me
the keys and only laughed when I’d asked them to back it out of the
garage because I wasn’t sure I could handle a stick shift in
reverse。 It’d taken me a half hour to get ten blocks； and I still
hadn’t figured out where or how to turn around so I’d actually be
heading uptown； toward the parking place on Miranda’s block that her
housekeeper had described。 The chances of my making it to 76th and
Fifth without seriously injuring myself； the car； a biker； a
pedestrian； or another vehicle were nonexistent； and this new call
did nothing to calm my nerves。
Once again； I made the round of calls； but this time Miranda’s nanny
picked up on the second ring。
“Cara； hey； it’s me。”
“Hey； what’s up？ Are you on the street？ It sounds so loud。”
“Yeah； you could say that。 I had to pick up Miranda’s Porsche from
the dealership。 Only； I can’t really drive stick。 But now she called
and wants me to pick up someone named Madelaine and drop her off at
the apartment。 Who the hell is Madelaine and where might she be？”
Cara laughed for what felt like ten minutes before she said；
“Madelaine’s their French bulldog puppy and she’s at the vet。 Just
got spayed。 I was supposed to pick her up； but Miranda just called
and told me to pick the twins up early from school so they can all
head out to the Hamptons。”
“You’re joking。 I have to pick up a fuckingdog with this Porsche？
Without crashing？ It’snever going to happen 。”
“She’s at the East Side Animal Hospital； on Fifty…second between
First and Second。 Sorry； Andy； I have to get the girls now； but call
if there’s anything I can do； OK？”
Maneuvering the green beast to head uptown sapped my last reserves
of concentration； and by the time I reached Second Avenue； the
stress sent my body into meltdown。It couldn’t possibly get worse
than this； I thought as yet another cab came within a quarter…inch
of the back bumper。 A nick anywhere on the car would guarantee I
lose my job—that much was obvious—but it just might cost me my life
as well。 Since there was obviously not a parking spot； legal or
otherwise； in the middle of the day； I called the vet’s office from
outside and asked them to bring Madelaine to me。 A kindly woman
emerged a few minutes later （just enough time for me to field
another call from Miranda； this one asking why I wasn’t back at the
office yet） with a whimpering； sniffling puppy。 The woman showed me
Madelaine’s stitched…up belly and told me to drive very； very
carefully because the dog was “experiencing some disfort。” Right；
lady。 I’m driving very； very carefully solely to save my job and
possibly my life—if the dog benefits from this； it’s just a bonus。
With Madelaine curled up on the passenger seat； I lit another
cigarette and rubbed my freezing bare feet so my toes could resume
gripping the clutch and brake pedal。Clutch； gas； shift； release
clutch； I chanted； trying to ignore the dog’s pitiful howls every
time I accelerated。 She alternated between crying； whining； and
snorting。 By the time we reached Miranda’s building； the pup was
nearly hysterical。 I tried to soothe her； but she could sense my
insincerity—and besides； I had no free hands with which to offer a
reassuring pat or nuzzle。 So this was what four years of diagramming
and deconstructing books； plays； short stories； and poems were for：
a chance to fort a small； white； batlike bulldog while trying not
to demolish someone else’s really； really expensive car。 Sweet life。
Just as I had always dreamed。
I managed to dump the car at the garage and the dog with Miranda’s
doorman without further incident； but my hands were still shaking
when I climbed into the chauffeured Town Car that had been following
me all over town。 The driver looked at me sympathetically and made
some supportive ment about the difficulty of stick shifts； but I
didn’t feel much like chatting。
“Just heading back to the Elias…Clark building；” I said with a long
sigh as the driver pulled around the block and headed south on Park
Avenue。