Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont. Lauren WeisbergerЧитать онлайн книгу.
watched lazily as the usual array of stylists, contributors, freelancers, friends, and lovers stopped by to revel in and generally soak up the glamour that naturally accompanied hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes, dozens of gorgeous faces, and what felt like an unlimited amount of really, really, really long legs.
Jeffy made his way over to me as soon as he could confirm that both Miranda and Emily had left for lunch and handed me two enormous shopping bags.
‘Here, check this stuff out. This should be a pretty good start.’
I dumped the contents of one bag onto the floor beside my desk and began sorting. There were Joseph pants in camel and charcoal gray, both long and lean and low-waisted, made from an incredibly soft wool. A pair of brown suede Gucci pants looked as though they could turn any schlub into a supermodel, while two pairs of perfectly faded Marc Jacobs jeans looked like they were custom cut for my body. There were eight or nine options for tops, ranging from a skintight ribbed turtleneck sweater by Calvin Klein to a teeny, completely sheer peasant blouse by Donna Karan. A dynamite graphic Diane Von Furstenburg wrap-dress was folded neatly over a navy, velvet Tahari pantsuit. I spotted and immediately fell in love with an all-around pleated Habitual denim skirt that would fall just above my knees and look perfect with the decidedly funky floral-printed Katayone Adelie blazer.
‘These clothes … this is all for me?’ I asked, hoping I sounded excited and not offended.
‘Yeah, it’s nothing. Just some things that have been lying around the Closet forever. We might have used some of it in shoots, but none of it ever got returned to the companies. Every few months or so I clean out the Closet and give this stuff away, and I figured you, uh, might be interested. You’re a size six, right?’
I nodded, still dumbfounded.
‘Yeah, I could tell. Most everyone else is a two or smaller, so you’re welcome to all of it.’
Ouch. ‘Great. This is just great. Jeffy, I can’t thank you enough. It’s all amazing!’
‘Check out the second bag,’ he said, motioning to where it sat on the floor. ‘You don’t think you can pull off that velvet suit with that shitty messenger bag you’re always dragging around, do you?’
The second, even more bulging bag spilled forth a stunning array of shoes, bags, and a couple of coats. There were two pairs of high-heeled Jimmy Choo boots – one ankle- and one knee-length – two pairs of open-toe Manolo stiletto sandals, a pair of classic black Prada pumps, and one pair of Tod loafers, which Jeffy immediately reminded me to never wear to the office. I slung a slouchy red suede bag over my shoulder and immediately saw the two intersecting ‘C’s carved in the front, but that wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the deep chocolate leather from the Celine tote that I threw on my other arm. A long military-style trench with the signature oversize Marc Jacobs buttons topped it all off.
‘You’re joking,’ I said softly, fondling a pair of Dior sunglasses he’d apparently thrown in as an afterthought. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
He looked pleased with my reaction and ducked his head. ‘Just do me a favor and wear it, OK? And don’t tell anyone that I gave you first pick on all this stuff, because they live for the Closet clean-outs, you hear?’ He bolted from the suite when we heard Emily’s voice call out to someone down the hall, and I shoved my new clothes under my desk.
Emily came back from the dining room with her usual lunch: an all-natural fruit smoothie and a small to-go container of iceberg lettuce topped with broccoli and balsamic vinegar. Not vinaigrette. Vinegar. Miranda would be in any minute – Uri had just called to say he was dropping her off – so I didn’t have my usually luxurious seven minutes to beeline to the soup table and gulp it down back at my desk. The minutes ticked by and I was starving, but I just didn’t have the energy to weave through the Clackers and get examined by the cashier and wonder if I was doing permanent damage by swallowing piping hot (and fattening!) soup so fast that I could feel the heat coursing down my esophagus. Not worth it, I thought. Skipping a single meal won’t kill you, I told myself. In fact, according to every single one of your sane and stable coworkers, it’ll just make you stronger. And besides, $2,000 pants don’t look so hot on girls who gorge themselves, I rationalized. I slumped down in my chair and thought of how well I had just represented Runway magazine.
The cell phone shrilled from somewhere deep in my dream, but consciousness took over long enough for me to wonder if it was her. After a stunningly fast orientation process – Where am I? Who is ‘she’? What day is it? – I realized that having the phone ring at eight on a Saturday morning was not a good omen. None of my friends would be awake for hours, and after years of getting screened out, my parents had grudgingly accepted that their daughter wasn’t answering until noon. In the seven seconds it took to figure all this out, I was also contemplating a reason why I should pick up this phone call. Emily’s reasons from the first day came back to me, though, and so I started my arm in a floor sweep from the comfort of my bed. I managed to click it open just before it stopped ringing.
‘Hello?’ I was proud that my voice sounded strong and clear, as though I’d spent the past few hours working hard at something respectable rather than passed out in a sleep that was so deep, so intense, it couldn’t possibly have indicated good things about my health.
‘Morning, honey! Glad to hear you’re awake. I just wanted to tell you that we’re in the sixties on Third, so I’ll be there in just ten minutes or so, OK?’ My mom’s voice came booming over the line. Moving day! It was moving day! I’d forgotten entirely that my parents had agreed to come into the city to help me pack my stuff up and take it to the new apartment Lily and I had rented. We were going to lug the boxes of clothes and CDs and picture albums while the real movers tackled my massive bed frame.
‘Oh, hi, Mom,’ I mumbled, lapsing back into tired-voice mode. ‘I thought you were her.’
‘Nope, you’ve got yourself a break today. Anyway, where should we park? Is there a garage right around there?’
‘Yeah, right under my building, just enter right from Third. Give them my apartment number in the building and you’ll get a discount. I’ve got to get dressed. I’ll see you soon.’
‘OK, honey. Hope you’re ready to work today!’
I fell back onto my pillow and considered my options for possibly going back to sleep. They were looking really grim, considering they’d driven all the way in from Connecticut to help me move. Just then, the alarm clock blared its signature static. Ah hah! So I had remembered that today was moving day. The reminder that I wasn’t going completely crazy was a small comfort.
Getting out of bed was, quite possibly, even harder to do than other days even though it was happening a few hours later. My body had been briefly tricked into thinking that it would actually get to catch up, had depended on reducing that infamous ‘sleep debt’ we’d learned about in Psych 101, when I wrenched it from bed. There was a small pile of clothes I’d left folded by the bed, the only things besides my toothbrush that I hadn’t yet packed. I pulled on the blue Adidas windpants, the hooded Brown sweatshirt, and the pair of filthy gray New Balance sneakers that had accompanied me around the world. Not a second after I swooshed the last of my Listerine did the buzzer ring.
‘Hi, guys. I’ll buzz you up, just a sec.’
There was a knock on the door two minutes later, and instead of my parents there stood a rumpled-looking Alex. He looked great, as usual. His faded jeans hung low on nonexistent hips, and his long-sleeved navy T-shirt was just the right amount of tight. The tiny wire-rims he wore only when he couldn’t tolerate his contacts were perched in front of very red eyes, and his hair was all over the place. I couldn’t stop myself from hugging him on the spot. I hadn’t seen him since the Sunday before, when we’d met for a quick midafternoon coffee. We’d intended to spend the whole day and night together, but Miranda had needed an emergency babysitter