Читать книгу Revenge Wears Prada: The Devil Returns - Лорен Вайсбергер, Lauren Weisberger, Lauren Weisberger - Страница 10

The morning after Yacht Party, when Max’s alarm went off at six, she thought she might bludgeon it (or him). Only with his prodding was she able to drag herself out of bed and into a pair of running tights and an old Brown sweatshirt. She slowly chewed the banana he handed her on their way out the door and followed him, listlessly, around the block to their gym, where the mere effort of swiping her membership card felt overwhelming. She’d climbed atop an elliptical machine and optimistically set it for forty-five minutes, but that was the extent of her capabilities: as soon as the program moved from warm-up into fat burn, she hit the emergency stop button, grabbed her Poland Spring and her US Weekly, and retreated to a bench outside the spin studio. When her cell phone rang with Emily’s number, she almost dropped her phone.

‘It’s six fifty-two in the morning. Are you kidding me right now?’ Andy said, bracing herself for the Emily onslaught.

‘What, are you not up yet?’

‘Of course I’m up. I’m at the gym. What are you doing up? Are you calling from jail? Or Europe? This is, like, the second day this week I’ve heard from you before nine.’

‘You’re not going to believe who just called me, Andy!’ Emily’s voice contained a level of excitement that was usually reserved for celebrities, presidents, or unresolved ex-boyfriends.

‘Nobody, I hope, before seven in the morning.’

‘Just guess.’

‘Really, Em?’

‘I’ll give you a hint: it’s someone you’re going to find very, very interesting.’

Suddenly Andy just knew. Why was she calling Emily? To confess her guilty conscience? Defend herself with claims of true love? Announce she was pregnant with Max’s baby? Andy had never been more certain of anything in her entire life.

‘It’s Katherine, isn’t it?’

‘Who?’

‘Max’s ex-girlfriend. The one he saw in Bermuda and—’

‘Have you still not asked him about that? Seriously, Andy, you’re being ridiculous. No, it wasn’t Katherine – why on earth would she be calling me? – it was Elias-Clark.’

‘Miranda!’ Andy whispered.

‘Not exactly. Some dude named Stanley who didn’t bother much with details or job titles, but I think I figured out from some Googling that he’s the general counsel for Elias-Clark.’

Andy leaned over and put her head between her knees for just a moment before ‘Call Me Maybe’ began blaring from the spin studio. She stood up and placed a hand over her free ear.

‘So yeah, I have no idea why he’s calling, but he left a message late last night saying it was important and to please call him back at my earliest convenience.’

‘Christ.’ Andy paced between the women’s locker room and the stretching mats. She could see Max doing lat pull-downs in the free-weight area.

‘Interesting, no? I have to say, I’m intrigued,’ Emily said.

‘It must have something to do with Miranda. I saw her last night. First in person and then in my nightmares. It was a very long night.’

‘You saw her? Where? On TV?’ Emily laughed.

‘Ha ha. Because my life is so unfabulous you can’t even imagine it, right? I saw her at Yacht Party! She was there with Valentino. We actually all had cocktails together and then the four of us went to Da Silvano for dinner. She was quite charming, I have to say. I was surprised.’

‘Oh my god, I’m dying right now! How could you not have called me the second you got home? Or from the bathroom of the restaurant? Andy, you’re lying right now! This is insane!’

Andy laughed. ‘Of course it’s insane, you lunatic. You think I just happened to share a plate of tagliatelle with Miranda and didn’t mention it to you? She was there last night, yes, but she didn’t so much as glance in my direction, and my entire interaction was with her Chanel Number Five as she blew past me without a glimmer of recognition.’

‘I hate you,’ Emily said.

‘I hate you, too. But seriously, don’t you think that’s too much of a coincidence? I see her last night for the first time in forever and she calls you the very next day?’

‘She didn’t call me. Stanley did,’ Emily said.

‘Same thing.’

‘Do you think they’re somehow onto our little habit of dropping Miranda’s name to book celebs? That’s not a crime, is it?’ Emily sounded concerned.

‘Maybe they finally figured out that you stole her entire two-thousand-person address book and they’re suing you to keep it under wraps?’ Andy offered.

‘From nine years ago? I don’t think so.’

Andy kneaded her aching calf muscles. ‘Maybe she decided that she wants you back. That you were the best dry-cleaning dropper-offer and lunch fetcher she’s ever had, and she simply can’t live without you.’

‘Adorable. Look, I’m jumping in the shower now and I’ll be out of here in thirty minutes. Meet me at the office?’

Andy looked at her watch, thrilled for the excuse to leave the gym. ‘All right. I’ll see you there.’

‘Oh, and Andy? I’m making the steak tonight. Come early and help me, okay? You can do the zucchini. Miles won’t be home until eight.’

‘Sounds good. I’ll tell Max to get in touch with Miles. See you soon.’

Pan-seared strip steaks and zucchini matchsticks had become their go-to meal for every dinner the girls had cooked for each other in over five years, ever since they’d learned to make it together in a remedial cooking class. It was the only dish either of them had actually mastered the entire semester. And no matter how many times they made the damn steak and zucchini – probably in the neighborhood of two or three times a month – it always made Andy think of 2004, the year after she left Runway and her entire world had changed.

Andy wasn’t one of those girls who remembered what she wore on every first day of school, third date, or birthday, or even when she had met certain friends or how she’d celebrated most holidays. But the year after Andy left Runway was etched forever in her mind: it wasn’t every year of your life that you quit your job, your parents got divorced, your boyfriend of six years dumped you, and your best friend (okay, fine, only friend) moved clear across the country.

It had started with Alex, a mere month after she returned from her infamous Fuck You Miranda Paris trip. Yes, she cringed inwardly every time she remembered the exchange, aghast at her own bad behavior. Yes, she thought it was just about the most unprofessional and uncouth way of leaving a job, no matter how dreaded said job was. And yes, if she had it to do all over again, could go back in time and relive that moment once more, she probably wouldn’t change a damn thing. It had just felt too good. Coming home – to Lily, to her family, and to Alex – had been the right thing to do, and the only part of it she regretted was not doing it earlier, but to her surprise, she didn’t just get to snap her fingers and have everything fall back into place. The year she’d spent at Runway fetching and finding and learning to navigate the scariest fashion shark tank imaginable had Andy so wrapped up in her own exhaustion and terror that she’d barely had a moment to notice what else was happening around her.

When had she and Alex grown so far apart that year that he no longer thought they had enough in common? He kept claiming everything had changed between them. He didn’t know her anymore. It was great she’d quit Runway, but why didn’t she realize she’d become a different person? The girl he’d fallen in love with answered only to herself, but the new Andy was too eager to do what everyone else wanted. What does that mean? Andy would ask, biting on her lip, feeling alternately sad and angry. Alex would just shake his head. They bickered constantly. He always seemed disappointed in her. By the time he finally said that he wanted a break, and oh, by the way, he was accepting a Teach for America transfer to the Mississippi Delta, Andy was devastated but not surprised. Officially, it was over, but it didn’t feel that way. They talked on the phone and saw each other intermittently for the next month. There was always a reason to call or e-mail, a fleece left behind, a question for her sister, a game plan to sell the David Gray tickets they’d bought months earlier for a concert in the fall. Even the good-bye felt surreal, perhaps the very first time Andy had ever felt awkward around Alex. She wished him good luck. His hug was brotherly. But deep down she was in denial: Alex couldn’t live in Mississippi forever. They would take some time, use the distance to think and breathe and figure things out, and then he’d realize he’d made a horrible mistake (both with Mississippi and with her) and come racing back to New York. They were meant to be together. Everyone knew it. It was only a matter of time.

Only Alex didn’t call. Not during his two-day drive there, not after he arrived, not once he settled into the cottage house he’d rented because his town was too small for apartment buildings. Andy kept making excuses for him, going through them in her mind like mantras. He’s tired from all the driving, he’s overwhelmed with regret about his new life, and her favorite, Mississippi must not have cell reception. But when three days passed, and then a week, and she still hadn’t received so much as an e-mail, it hit her: this was for real. Alex was gone. At the very least he was determined to distance himself, and he didn’t appear to be coming back. She cried every morning in the shower and every evening in front of the TV and occasionally in the middle of the day, just because she could. Writing for Happily Ever After, the up-and-coming wedding blog that had hired her to contribute copy on a freelance basis, didn’t help. Who was she to curate the perfect registry list or suggest some off-the-beaten-track honeymoon destinations when her boyfriend found her too hideous even to call?

‘Ex-boyfriend,’ Lily said when Andy posed this question to her. They were sitting in Lily’s childhood bedroom at her grandmother’s house in Connecticut, drinking some kind of syrupy citrus tea Lily had bought from the Korean manicurist who had served it at her last nail appointment.

Andy’s mouth dropped open. ‘Did you really just say that?’

‘I’m not trying to hurt you, Andy, but I think it’s important you start facing reality.’

‘Facing reality? What does that mean? It’s barely been a month.’

‘A month in which you haven’t heard a word from him. Now, I’m sure that won’t be the case forever, but I do think he’s sending a pretty clear message. I’m not saying I agree with him, but I don’t want you to think that—’

Andy held up her hand. ‘I get it, thanks.’

‘Don’t be like that. I know this is hard. I’m not saying it isn’t. You loved each other. But I think you need to start focusing on moving forward with your life.’

Andy snorted. ‘Is that one of your brilliant pearls of wisdom from your twelve-step meetings?’

Lily leaned back as though she’d been struck. ‘I’m only saying it because I care about you,’ she said quietly.

‘I’m sorry, Lil, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re right, I know you’re right. I just can’t believe …’ As hard as she tried to choke back the tears, her throat tightened and her eyes welled. She sobbed.

‘Come here, sweetheart,’ Lily said, moving closer to Andy’s floor cushion.

In an instant her friend’s arms were wrapped around her, and Andy realized this was the first time anyone had hugged her in weeks. It felt good, so pathetically good.

‘He’s just being a typical guy. Taking some time, doing his thing. He’ll come around.’

Andy wiped away tears and managed a small smile. ‘I know.’ She nodded. But they both knew Alex was no typical guy, and he’d given no indication whatsoever that he was going to come around, not then or ever.

Lily flopped down on the floor. ‘It’s time you started thinking about having an affair.’

‘An affair? Don’t you have to be in a relationship before you can cheat on someone?’

‘A fling, a one-night stand, whatever. Do I even have to remind you how long it’s been since you’ve had sex with someone else? Because I will …’

‘I don’t think that is really—’

‘Sophomore year, Scott whatever his name was, the one with the really unfortunate underbite, who you bonded with one night in the coed bathroom while I puked? Remember him?’

Andy put her hand to her forehead. ‘Oh, make it stop.’

‘And then he wrote you that card? With “Last Night” on the front and “You rocked my world” on the inside, and you thought it was the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone could ever do?’

‘Please, I beg of you.’

‘You slept with him for four months! You overlooked his Tevas, his refusal to do his own laundry, his insistence on sending you “Just because” Hallmark cards. You’ve proven yourself capable of wearing blinders when it comes to men. I’m just saying: do it again!’

‘Lily—’

‘Or don’t. You’re in a position to upgrade if you want. Two words: Christian Collinsworth. Doesn’t he still crop up every now and then?’

‘Yes, but he’s only interested because I’m taken. Was taken. As soon as he senses I’m available, he’ll go running.’

‘If by “available” you mean “open to another relationship,” then yes, you’re probably right. But if you mean “open to the idea of no-commitment sex purely for pleasure,” I think you’ll find him willing.’

‘Why don’t we get out of here?’ Andy, desperate to change the topic, scrolled through the e-mails on her BlackBerry. ‘Travelzoo is offering four days and three nights in Jamaica, flight, hotel, and meals included, for three ninety-nine over Presidents’ Day weekend. Not bad.’

Lily was silent.

‘Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll get some sun, drink some margaritas – well, not you, but I will – maybe meet some guys? It’s been a tough winter all around. We deserve a break.’

Andy knew something was wrong when Lily continued her silence, staring at the carpet.

‘What? Bring your books. You can read on the beach. It’s exactly what we both need.’

‘I’m moving,’ Lily said, her voice almost a whisper.

‘You’re what?’

‘Moving.’

‘Apartments? You found somewhere? I thought the plan was to finish out the school year here since you only have class twice a week and then start to look for a place in the summer.’

‘I’m moving to Colorado.’

Andy stared at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Lily broke off a microscopic corner of a cinnamon rugelach but left it on the plate. They didn’t speak for almost a minute, which to Andy felt like an hour.

Finally Lily took a deep breath. ‘I just really need a change, I think. The drinking, the accident, the month in rehab … I just associate so many things with the city, so many negative connotations. I haven’t even told my grandmother yet.’

‘Colorado?’ Andy had so many questions, but she was too shocked to say much else.

‘UC Boulder is making it really easy for me to transfer my credits, and they’ll give me a full ride for only teaching one undergraduate class each semester. They have fresh air and a great program and a whole lot of people who don’t know my whole story already.’ When Lily looked up, her eyes were filled with tears. ‘They don’t have you; that’s the only part of the whole thing making me sad. I’m going to miss you so much.’

Blubbering ensued. Both girls were sobbing and hugging and wiping mascara from their cheeks, unable to imagine a situation where an entire country separated them. Andy tried to be supportive by asking Lily a million questions and paying close attention to the answers, but all she could think about was the obvious: in a few weeks’ time, she was going to be all alone in New York City. No Alex. No Lily. No life.

A few days after Lily’s departure, Andy retreated back to her parents’ house in Avon. She’d just finished scarfing down three servings of her mother’s butter-and-heavy-cream-laden mashed potatoes, washed down with two glasses of Pinot, and was considering unbuttoning her jeans when her mother reached across the table to take Andy’s hand and announced that she and Andy’s father were getting divorced.

‘I can’t stress enough how much we love both you and Jill, and how of course this has nothing to do with either of you,’ Mrs Sachs said, talking a mile a minute.

‘She’s not a child, Roberta. She certainly doesn’t think she’s the reason her parents’ marriage is ending.’ Her father’s tone was sharper than normal, and if she were being honest with herself, she’d have admitted she’d noticed it had been that way for some time.

‘It’s completely mutual and amicable. No one is … seeing anyone else, nothing like that. We’ve just grown apart after so many years.’

‘We want different things,’ her father added unhelpfully.

Andy nodded.

‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ Mrs Sachs’s brow furrowed in parental concern.

‘What’s there to say?’ Andy downed the rest of her wine. ‘Does Jill know?’

Her father nodded and Mrs Sachs cleared her throat.

‘Well, just if you … have any … questions or anything?’ Her mother looked worried. A quick glance at her father confirmed he was about to launch into full shrink mode, start interrogating her about her feelings and making irritating comments like Whatever you’re feeling right now is understandable and I know this will take some getting used to, and she wasn’t in the mood for it.

Andy shrugged. ‘Look, it’s your deal. So long as you’re both happy, it’s none of my business.’ She wiped her mouth with her napkin, thanked her mother for dinner, and left the kitchen. No doubt she was reverting back to teenage brattiness, but she couldn’t help herself. She also knew that the demise of her parents’ thirty-four-year marriage had nothing to do with her, but she couldn’t help thinking, First Alex, then Lily, now this. It was too much.

As far as distractions went, logging in the hours researching, interviewing, and writing Happily Ever After articles worked for a little while, but Andy still couldn’t fill that interminable stretch of time between finishing work and going to sleep. She’d gotten drinks a couple of times with her editor, a tiger of a woman who mostly looked over Andy’s shoulder at the recent college graduates milling around the happy-hour bars they frequented, and occasionally she’d see a Brown acquaintance for dinner or a friend visiting New York on business, but mostly Andy was alone. Alex had dropped off the face of the planet. He hadn’t called a single time, and the only contact had been a curt ‘Thanks so much for remembering, hope you’re well’ e-mail in response to a long, emotional, and in hindsight, humiliating voice mail Andy left for his twenty-fourth birthday. Lily was happily settled in Boulder and babbling excitedly about her apartment, her new office, and some yoga class she’d tried and loved. She couldn’t even fake being miserable for Andy’s sake. And Andy’s parents officially separated after agreeing that Mrs Sachs would keep the house and Andy’s father would move to a new condo closer to town. Apparently the papers were filed, they were both in therapy – although separately this time – and each was ‘at peace’ with the decision.

It was a long, cold winter. A long, cold, lonely winter. And so she did what every young New Yorker before her had done at some point during their first decade in the city and signed up for a ‘How to Boil Water’ cooking class.

It had seemed like a good idea, considering she only used her oven for storing catalogs and magazines. The only ‘cooking’ she ever did was with a coffeepot or a jar of peanut butter, and ordering in – regardless of how frugal she tried to be – was way too expensive. It would have been a good idea, if New York wasn’t the smallest city in the world at the exact times you needed anonymity: sitting across the test kitchen from Andy on her very first day of class, looking supremely hassled and a lot intimidating, was none other than Runway first assistant extraordinaire Emily Charlton.

Eight million people in New York City and Andy couldn’t avoid her only known enemy? She desperately wished for a baseball cap, oversize sunglasses, anything at all that could shield her from the imminent blaze-eyed glare that still haunted Andy’s nightmares. Should she leave? Withdraw? See about attending another night? As she debated her options, the instructor read the class roster; at the sound of Andy’s name, Emily jolted a bit but recovered well. They managed to avoid eye contact and came to an unspoken agreement to pretend they didn’t recognize each other. Emily was absent the second class, and Andy was hopeful she had bailed on the course altogether; Andy missed the third one because of work. Each was displeased to see the other at the fourth class, but there was some subtle shift making it too difficult for them to ignore each other entirely, and the girls nodded an icy acknowledgment. By the end of the fifth class, Andy grunted a barely discernible ‘Hey’ in Emily’s general direction and Emily grunted back. Only one more session to go! It was conceivable, even likely, that they could each finish out the course with nothing more than guttural sounds exchanged, and Andy was relieved. But then the unthinkable happened. One minute the instructor was reading the ingredient list for that night’s meal, and the next he was pairing the two sworn enemies together as ‘kitchen partners,’ putting Emily in charge of prep work and instructing Andy to oversee the sautéing. Their eyes met for the first time, but each looked quickly away. One glance and Andy could tell: Emily was dreading this as much as she was.

They moved wordlessly into position side by side, and when Emily settled into a rhythm of slicing zucchini into matchsticks, Andy forced herself to say, ‘So, how is everything?’

‘Everything? It’s fine.’ Emily still excelled at conveying that she found every word Andy uttered extremely distasteful. It was almost comforting to see nothing had changed. Although Andy could tell Emily didn’t want to ask and couldn’t have cared less about the answer, Emily managed to ask, ‘How about you?’

‘Oh, me? Fine, everything’s fine. I can’t believe it’s already been a year, can you?’

Silence.

‘You remember Alex, right? Well, he ended up moving to Mississippi, for a teaching job.’ Andy still couldn’t bring herself to admit that he’d broken up with her. She willed herself to stop talking but she couldn’t. ‘And Lily, that friend of mine who was always stopping by the office late at night, after Miranda left, the one who had the accident while I was in Paris? She moved too! To Boulder. I never thought she had it in her, but she’s become a yoga fanatic and a rock climber in, like, under six months. I’m actually writing now for a wedding blog, Happily Ever After. Have you heard of it?’

Emily smiled, not meanly but not nicely either. ‘Is Happily Ever After affiliated with The New Yorker? Because I remember there was a lot of talk about writing for them …’

Andy felt her face grow hot. How naïve she’d been! So young and foolish. A couple of years hitting the pavement, interviewing subjects and writing dozens of pieces that would never get published, cold-calling editors and relentlessly pitching story ideas, had set her straight: it was an enormous accomplishment to be published anywhere, writing about anything, in this city.

‘Yeah, that was pretty stupid of me,’ Andy said quietly. She stole a quick glance at Emily’s thigh-high boots and buttery leather motorcycle jacket and asked, ‘What about you? Are you still at Runway?’

She’d inquired merely to be polite since there was no doubt Emily had been promoted to something glamorous, where she would happily remain until she married a billionaire or died, whichever came first.

Emily doubled down on her zucchini slicing, and Andy prayed she wouldn’t nick off a fingertip. ‘No.’

The tension was palpable as Andy accepted Emily’s matchsticks and sprinkled them with chopped garlic, salt, and pepper before adding them to the sizzling pan. Immediately it began spitting olive oil.

‘Turn down that heat!’ the instructor called from his perch at the front of the kitchen. ‘We’re browning zucchini here, not having a bonfire.’

Emily adjusted the stovetop flame and rolled her eyes, and with that barely perceptible movement, Andy was transported directly to their anteroom offices at Runway, where Emily had rolled those same, slightly brighter eyes a thousand times each day. Miranda would call out a request for a milkshake or a new SUV or a python tote bag or a pediatrician or a flight to the Dominican Republic; Andy would flounder about, trying to decode what she was saying; Emily would roll her eyes and loudly sigh at Andy’s incompetence. Then they’d rinse and repeat, over and over again.