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Her face was so caked with makeup； her clothes were so
phenomenally tight； that she actually looked like a caricature
of herself。 Like the first time I visited Switzerland and
couldn’t help thinking how much it resembled the mock…up town
in EPCOT； Donatella actually looked more like the character
onSaturday Night Live than herself。
I sipped my glass of champagne （and I thought I wouldn’t be
having any！） and made small talk with an Italian guy—one of
the first ugly ones I’d ever met—who spoke in florid prose
about his innate appreciation for the female body； until
Christian reappeared again。
“Hey； e with me for a minute；” he said； once again
navigating me smoothly through the crowd。 He was wearing his
uniform： perfectly faded Diesels； a white T…shirt； a dark
sport coat； and Gucci loafers； and he blended into the fashion
crowd seamlessly。
“Where are we going？” I asked； keeping my eyes peeled for
Miranda； who； no matter what Christian said； was still
probably expecting me to be banished to the corner； faxing or
updating the itinerary。
“First； we’re getting you another drink； and maybe another for
me as well。 Then； I’m going to teach you how to dance。”
“What makes you think I don’t know how to dance？ It just so
happens that I’m a gifted dancer。”
He handed me another glass of champagne that seemed to appear
out of thin air and led me into his parents’ formal living
room； which was done in gorgeous shades of deep maroon。 A
six…piece band was playing hip music； of course； and the
couple dozen people under thirty…five had congregated here。 As
if on cue； the band started playing Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get
It On” and Christian pulled me against him。 He smelled of
masculine； preppy cologne； something old…school like Polo
Sport。 His hips moved naturally to the music； no thinking
involved； we just moved together all over the makeshift dance
floor； and he sang quietly in my ear。 The rest of the room
became fuzzy—I was vaguely aware there were others dancing；
too； and somewhere someone was making a toast to something；
but at that moment the only thing with any definition was
Christian。 Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind； there
was a tiny but insistent reminder that this body against mine
was not Alex’s； but it didn’t matter at all。 Not now； not
tonight。
It was after one when I actually remembered that I was there
with Miranda； it had been hours since I’d last seen her； and I
was certain she’d forgotten all about me and headed back to
the hotel。 But when I finally pulled myself away from the
couch in his father’s study； I saw her happily chatting with
Karl Lagerfeld and Gwyneth Paltrow； all of them apparently
oblivious to the fact that they would all be waking up for the
Christian Dior show in just a few hours。 I was debating
whether or not I should approach her when she spotted me。
“Ahn…dre…ah！ e over here；” she called； her voice sounding
almost merry over the din of the party that had bee
noticeably more festive in the last few hours。 Someone had
dimmed the lights； and it was abundantly clear that the
partyers who remained had been well taken care of by the
smiling bartenders。 The annoying way she pronounced my name
didn’t even bother me in my warm and fuzzy champagne buzz。 And
even though I thought the evening couldn’t get any better； she
was clearly calling me over to introduce me to her celebrity
friends。
“Yes； Miranda？” I cooed in my most ingratiating；
thank…you…for…bringing…me…to…this…fabulous…place tone。 She
didn’t even look in my general direction。
“Get me a Pellegrino and then make sure the driver’s out
front。 I’m ready to leave now。” The two women and one man
standing next to her snickered； and I felt my face turn bright
red。
“Of course。 I’ll be right back。” I fetched the water； which
she accepted without a thank…you； and made my way through the
thinning crowd to the car。 I considered finding Christian’s
parents to thank them but thought better of it and headed
straight toward the door； where he was leaning up against the
frame with a smugly satisfied expression。
“So； little Andy； did I show you a good time tonight？” he
slurred just a little bit； and it seemed nothing short of
adorable at that moment。
“It was all right； I suppose。”
“Just all right？ Sounds to me like you wish I would’ve taken
you upstairs tonight； huh； Andy？ All in good time； my friend；
all in good time。”
I smacked him playfully on the forearm。 “Don’t flatter
yourself； Christian。 Thank your parents for me。” And； for
once； I leaned over first and kissed him on the cheek before
he could do anything else。 “G’night。”
“A tease！” he called； slurring just a little bit more。 “You’re
quite the little tease。 Bet your boyfriend loves that about
you； doesn’t he？” He was smiling now； and not cruelly。 It was
all part of the flirty game for him； but the reference to Alex
sobered me for a minute。 Just long enough to realize that I’d
had a better time tonight than I could remember having had in
many years。 The drinking and the close dancing and his hands
on my back as he pulled me against him had made me feel more
alive than in all the months since I’d been working atRunway；
months that had been filled with nothing but frustration and
humiliation and a body…numbing exhaustion。 Maybe this was why
Lily did it； I thought。 The guys； the partying； the sheer joy
of realizing you’re young and breathing。 I couldn’t wait to
call and tell her all about it。
Miranda joined me in the backseat of the limo after another
five minutes； and she even appeared to be somewhat happy。 I
wondered if she’d gotten drunk but ruled that out immediately：
the most I’d ever seen her drink was a sip of this or that；
and then only because a social situation demanded it。 She
preferred Perrier or Pellegrino to champagne and certainly a
milkshake or a latte to a cosmo； so the chances she was
actually drunk right now were slim。
After grilling me about the following day’s itinerary for the
first five minutes （luckily I’d thought to tuck a copy in my
bag）； she turned and looked at me for the first time all
evening。
“Emily—er； Ahn…dre…ah； how long have you been working for me？”
It came out of left field； and my mind couldn’t work fast
enough to figure out the ulterior motive for this sudden
question。 It felt strange to be the object of any question of
hers that wasn’t explicitly asking why I was such a fucking
idiot for not finding； fetching； or faxing something fast
enough。 She’d never actually asked about my life before。
Unless she remembered the details of our hiring interview—and
it seemed unlikely； considering she’d stared at me with
utterly blank eyes my very first day of work—then she had no
idea where； if anywhere； I’d attended college； where； if
anywhere； I lived in Manhattan； or what； if anything； I did in
the city in the few precious hours a day I wasn’t racing
around for her。 And although this question most certainly did
have a Miranda element to it； my intuition said that this
might； just maybe； be a conversation about me。
“Next month it will be a year； Miranda。”
“And do you feel you’ve learned a few things that may help you
in your future？” She peered at me； and I instantly suppressed
the urge to start rattling off the myriad things I’d
“learned”： how to find a single store or restaurant review in
a whole city or out of a dozen newspapers with few to no clues
about its genuine origin； how to pander to preteenage gir