《时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版》

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时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版- 第101部分


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  hope that you’re happy with the way things are going。”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked nastily。

  “Nothing; nothing;” she rushed to say。 “It doesn’t mean 
  anything other than just what I said: your dad and I only care 
  that you’re happy; and it seems that you’ve really been; um; 
  well; uh; pushing yourself lately。 Is everything OK?”

  I softened a bit since she was clearly trying so hard。 “Yeah; 
  Mom; everything’s fine。 I’m not happy to be going to Paris; 
  just so you know。 It’s going to be a week of sheer hell; 
  twenty…four…seven。 But my year will be up soon; and I can put 
  this kind of living behind me。”

  “I know; sweetie; I know it’s been a tough year for you。 I 
  just hope this all ends up being worth it for you。 That’s 
  all。”

  “I know。 So do I。”

  We hung up on good terms; but I couldn’t shake the feeling 
  that my own parents were disappointed in me。

  The baggage claim at de Gaulle was a nightmare; but I found 
  the elegantly dressed driver who was waving a sign with my 
  name on it when I exited customs; and the moment he closed his 
  own door; he handed me a Cell Phone。

  “Ms。 Priestly asked that you call her upon arrival。 I took the 
  liberty of programming the hotel’s number into the automatic 
  dialing。 She’s in the Coco Chanel suite。”

  “Um; oh; OK。 Thanks。 I guess I’ll call right now;” I announced 
  rather unnecessarily。

  But before I could press the star key and the number one; the 
  phone bleated and flashed a frightening red color。 If the 
  driver hadn’t been watching me expectantly I would have muted 
  the ring and pretended I hadn’t yet seen it; but I was left 
  with the distinct feeling that he had been ordered to keep a 
  close eye on me。 Something about his expression suggested that 
  it was not in my best interest to ignore that call。

  “Hello? This is Andrea Sachs;” I said as professionally as 
  possible; already making over/under bets with myself as to the 
  chance it was anyone besides Miranda。

  “Ahn…dre…ah! What time does your watch read at this moment?”

  Was this a trick question? A preface to accusing me of being 
  late?

  “Um; let me see。 Actually; it says that it’s five…fifteen in 
  the morning; but obviously I haven’t switched it yet to Paris 
  time。 Therefore; my watch should read that it’s 
  eleven…fifteenA 。M。” I said cheerily; hoping to start off the 
  first conversation of our interminable trip on as high a note 
  as I dared。

  “Thank you for that never…ending narrative; Ahn…dre…ah。 And 
  may I ask what; exactly; you’ve been doing for the past 
  thirty…five minutes?”

  “Well; Miranda; the flight landed a few minutes late and then 
  I still had—”

  “Because according to the itineraryyou created for me; I’m 
  reading that your flight arrived at ten…thirty…five this 
  morning。”

  “Yes; that’s when it was scheduled to arrive; but you see—”

  “I’ll not have you tell me what I see; Ahn…dre…ah。 That is 
  most certainly not acceptable behavior for the next week; do 
  you understand me?”

  “Yes; of course。 I’m sorry。” My heart began pounding what felt 
  like a million beats a minute; and I could feel my face grow 
  hot with humiliation。 Humiliation at being spoken to that way; 
  but more than anything; my own shame in pandering to it。 I had 
  just apologized—most sincerely—to someone for not being able 
  to make my international flight land at the correct time and 
  then for not being savvy enough to figure out how to avoid 
  French customs entirely。

  I pressed my face rather uncouthly against the window and 
  watched as the limo weaved its way through Paris’s bustling 
  streets。 The women seemed so much taller here; the men so much 
  more genteel; and just about everyone was beautifully dressed; 
  thin; and regal in their stance。 I’d only been to Paris once 
  before; but living out of a backpack in a hostel on the wrong 
  side of town didn’t quite have the same feel as watching the 
  chic little clothing boutiques and adorable sidewalk cafés 
  from the backseat of a limousine。I could get used to this; I 
  thought; as the driver turned around to show me where I might 
  find a few bottles of water if I was so inclined。

  When the car pulled up to the hotel entrance; a 
  distinguished…looking gentleman wearing what I guessed was a 
  custom…made suit opened the back door for me。

  “Mademoiselle Sachs; what a pleasure to finally meet you。 I am 
  Gerard Renaud。” His voice was smooth and confident; and his 
  silver hair and deeply lined face indicated he was much older 
  than I’d pictured when I spoke to the concierge over the 
  phone。

  “Monsieur Renaud; it’s great to finally meet you!” Suddenly 
  all I wanted to do was crawl into a nice; soft bed and sleep 
  off my jet lag; but Renaud quickly quashed my hopes。

  “Mademoiselle Andrea; Madame Priestly would like to see you in 
  her room immediately。 Before you’ve settled into yours; I’m 
  afraid。” He had an apologetic expression on his face; and for 
  a brief moment I felt sorrier for him than I did for myself。 
  Clearly he didn’t enjoy conveying this news。

  “That’s fucking great;” I muttered; before noticing how 
  distressed this made Monsieur Renaud。 I plastered on a winning 
  smile and began again。 “Please excuse me; it was a terribly 
  long flight。 Will someone please tell me where I may find 
  Miranda?”

  “Of course; mademoiselle。 She is in her suite and from what I 
  can gather; very eager to see you。” When I looked over at 
  Monsieur Renaud I thought I detected a slight eye…roll and 
  even though I’d always found him oppressively proper over the 
  phone; I reconsidered。 Although he was much too professional 
  to show it; never mind actually say anything; I considered 
  that he might loathe Miranda as much as I did。 Not because of 
  any real proof I had; but simply because it was impossible to 
  imagine anyonenot hating her。

  The elevator opened and Monsieur Renaud smiled and ushered me 
  inside。 He said something in French to the bellman who was 
  escorting me upstairs。 Renaud bid me adieu and the bellman led 
  me to Miranda’s suite。 He knocked on the door and then fled; 
  leaving me to face Miranda alone。

  I briefly wondered if Miranda herself would answer the door; 
  but it was impossible to imagine。 In the eleven months I’d 
  been letting myself in and out of her apartment; I’d yet to 
  catch her doing anything that even resembled work; including 
  such pedestrian tasks as answering the phone; removing a 
  jacket from a closet; or pouring a glass of water。 It was as 
  if her every day wasShabbat and she was once again the 
  observant Jew; and I was; of course; herShabbes goy 。

  A pretty; uniformed maid opened the door and ushered me 

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