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sigh as the driver pulled around the block and headed south on Park
Avenue。 Since I rode the route every day—sometimes twice—I knew I
had exactly eight minutes to breathe and collect myself and possibly
even figure out a way to disguise the ash and sweat stains that had
bee permanent features on the Gucci suede。 The shoes—well； those
were beyond hope； at least until they could be fixed by the fleet of
shoemakersRunway kept for such emergencies。 The ride was actually
over in six and a half minutes； and I had no choice but to hobble
like an off…balance giraffe on my one flat； one four…inch heel
arrangement。 A quick stop in the Closet turned up a brand…new pair
of knee…high maroon…colored Jimmy Choos that looked great with the
leather skirt I grabbed； tossing the suede pants in the “Couture
Cleaning” pile （where the basic prices for dry cleaning started at
seventy…five dollars per item）。 The only stop left was a quick visit
to the Beauty Closet； where one of the editors there took one look
at my sweat…streaked makeup and whipped out a trunk full of fixers。
Not bad；I thought； looking in one of the omnipresent full…length
mirrors。 You might not even know that mere minutes before I was
hovering precariously close to murdering myself and everyone around
me。 I strolled confidently into the assistants’ suite outside
Miranda’s office and quietly took my seat； looking forward to a few
free minutes before she returned from lunch。
“And…re…ah；” she called from her starkly furnished； deliberately
cold office。 “Where are the car and the puppy？”
I leaped out of my seat and ran as fast as was possible on plush
carpeting while wearing five…inch heels and stood before her desk。
“I left the car with the garage attendant and Madelaine with your
doorman； Miranda；” I said； proud to have pleted both tasks
without killing the car； the dog； or myself。
“And why would you do something like that？” she snarled； looking up
from her copy ofWomen’s Wear Daily for the first time since I’d
walked in。 “I specifically requested that you bring both of them to
the office； since the girls will be here momentarily and we need to
leave。”
“Oh； well； actually； I thought you said that you wanted them to—”
“Enough。 The details of your inpetence interest me very little。
Go get the car and the puppy and bring them here。 I’m expecting
we’ll be all ready to leave in fifteen minutes。 Understood？”
Fifteen minutes？ Was this woman hallucinating？ It would take a
minute or two to get downstairs and into a Town Car； another six or
eight to get to her apartment； and then somewhere in the vicinity of
three hours for me to find the puppy in her eighteen…room apartment；
extract the bucking stick shift from its parking spot； and make my
way the twenty blocks to the office。
“Of course； Miranda。 Fifteen minutes。”
I started shaking again the moment I ran out of her office；
wondering if my heart could just up and give out at the ripe old age
of twenty…three。 The first cigarette I lit landed directly on the
top of my new Jimmys； where instead of falling to the cement it
smoldered for just long enough to burn a small； neat hole。Great； I
muttered。That’s just fucking great。 Chalk up my total as an even
four grand for today’s ruined merchandise—a new personal best。 Maybe
she’d die before I got back； I thought； deciding that now was the
time to look on the bright side。 Maybe； just maybe； she’d keel over
from something rare and exotic and we’d all be released from her
wellspring of misery。 I relished a last drag before stamping out the
cigarette and told myself to be rational。You don’t want her to die；
I thought； stretching out in the backseat。Because if she does； you
lose all hope of killing her yourself。 And thatwould be a shame。
2
I knew nothing when I went for my first interview and stepped onto
the infamous Elias…Clark elevators； those transporters of all
thingsen vogue 。 I had no idea that the city’s most well…connected
gossip columnists and socialites and media executives obsessed over
the flawlessly made…up； turned…out； turned…in riders of those sleek
and quiet lifts。 I had never seen women with such radiant blond
hair； didn’t know that those brand…name highlights cost six grand a
year to maintain or that others in the know could identify the
colorists after a quick glance at the finished product。 I had never
laid eyes on such beautiful men。 They were perfectly toned—not too
muscular because “that’snot sexy”—and they showed off their lifelong
dedication to gymwork in finely ribbed turtlenecks and tight leather
pants。 Bags and shoes I’d never seen on real people shoutedPrada！
Armani！ Versace！ from every surface。 I had heard from a friend of a
friend—an editorial assistant atChic magazine—that every now and
then the accessories get to meet their makers in those very
elevators； a touching reunion where Miuccia； Giorgio； or Donatella
can once again admire their summer ’02 stilettos or their spring
couture teardrop bag in person。 I knew things were changing for me—I
just wasn’t sure it was for the better。
I had； until this point； spent the past twenty…three years embodying
small…town America。 My entire existence was a perfect cliché。
Growing up in Avon； Connecticut； had meant high school sports； youth
group meetings； “drinking parties” at nice suburban ranch Homes when
the parents were away。 We wore sweatpants to school； jeans for
Saturday night； ruffled puffiness for semiformal dances。 And
college！ Well； that was a world of sophistication after high school。
Brown had provided endless activities and classes and groups for
every imaginable type of artist； misfit； and puter geek。 Whatever
intellectual or creative interest I wanted to pursue； regardless of
how esoteric or unpopular it may have been； had some sort of outlet
at Brown。 High fashion was perhaps the single exception to this
widely bragged…about fact。 Four years spent muddling around
Providence in fleeces and hiking boots； learning about the French
impressionists； and writing obnoxiously long…winded English papers
did not—in any conceivable way—prepare me for my very first
postcollege job。
I managed to put it off as long as possible。 For the three months
following graduation； I’d scrounged together what little cash I
could find and took off on a solo trip。 I did Europe by train for a
month； spending much more time on beaches than in museums； and
didn’t do a very good job of keeping in touch with anyone back Home
except Alex； my boyfriend of three years。 He knew that after the
five weeks or so I was starting to get lonely； and since his Teach
for America traini