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“Hey； it’s me； I’m right here。 What’s up？ I’m kind of in a
hurry； so 。 。 。” I thought about asking her directly if she’d
called to fire me but decided to give her a break for once。 I
braced myself for the verbal tirade she was sure to let loose
on me—how could you let her down； me down；Runway down； the
wide world of fashion； blah； blah； blah—but it never came。
“Oh yeah； of course。 So； I just spoke to Miranda 。 。 。” Her
voice trailed off as though she was hoping I’d continue and
explain that the whole thing had been a big mistake and not to
worry because I’d managed to fix it in the last four minutes。
“And you heard what happened； I’m assuming？”
“Um； yeah！ Andy； what’s going on？”
“I should probably be asking you that； right？”
There was silence。
“Listen； Em； I have a feeling that you called to fire me。 It’s
OK if you did； I know it’s not your decision。 So； did she tell
you to call and get rid of me？” Even though I felt lighter
than I had in many months； I still found myself holding my
breath； wondering if maybe； through some dumb stroke of luck
or misfortune； Miranda had respected my telling her to fuck
off instead of been appalled by it。
“Yes。 She asked me to let you know that you have been
terminated； effective immediately； and she would like you to
be checked out of the Ritz before she returns from the show。”
She said this softly and with a trace of regret。 Perhaps it
was for the many hours and days and weeks she was now facing
of finding and training someone all over again； but there
sounded like there might be something even more behind it。
“You’re going to miss me； aren’t you； Em？ Go on； say it。 It’s
OK； I won’t tell anyone。 As far as I’m concerned； this
conversation never happened。 You don’t want me to go； do you？”
Miracle of miracles； she laughed。 “What did you say to her？
She just kept repeating that you were crass and unlady…like。 I
couldn’t get anything more specific out of her than that。”
“Oh； that’s probably because I told her to fuck herself。”
“You did not！”
“You’re calling to fire me。 I assure you； I did。”
“Oh my god。”
“Yeah； well； I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t the single most
satisfying moment of my pathetic life。 Of course； I have now
been fired by the most powerful woman in publishing。 Not only
do I not have a way to pay off my nearly maxed…out MasterCard；
but future jobs in magazines are looking rather dismal。 Maybe
I should try to work for one of her enemies？ They’d be happy
to hire me； right？”
“Sure。 Send your résumé over to Anna Wintour—they’ve never
liked each other very much。”
“Hmm。 Something to think about。 Listen； Em； no hard feelings；
OK？” We both knew that we had absolutely； positively not a
single thing in mon but Miranda Priestly； but as long as we
were getting on so famously； I figured I’d play along。
“Sure； of course；” she lied awkwardly； knowing full well that
I was about to enter into the upper stratosphere of social
pariah…dom。 The chances of Emily admitting she had so much as
known me from this day forward were nonexistent； but that was
OK。 Maybe in ten years when she was sitting front and center
at the Michael Kors show and I was still shopping at Filene’s
and dining at Benihana； we’d laugh about the whole thing。 But
probably not。
“Well； I’d love to chat； but I’m kind of screwed up right now；
not sure what to do next。 I’ve got to figure out a way to get
Home as soon as possible。 Do you think I can still use my
return ticket？ She can’t fire me and leave me stranded in a
foreign country； can she？”
“Well of course she would be justified in doing so； Andrea；”
she said。 Ah…hah！ One last zinger。 It was forting to know
that things never really changed。 “After all； it’s really you
who are deserting your job—you forced her to fire you。 But no；
I don’t think she’s a vengeful kind of person。 Just charge the
change fee and I’ll figure out a way to put it through。”
“Thanks； Em。 I appreciate it。 And good luck to you； too。
You’re going to make a fantastic fashion editor someday。”
“Really？ You think so？” she asked eagerly； happily。 Why my
opinion as the biggest fashion loser ever to hit the scene was
at all relevant； I didn’t know； but she sounded very； very
pleased。
“Definitely。 Not a doubt in my mind。”
Christian called the moment I hung up with Emily。 He had；
unsurprisingly； already heard what happened。 Unbelievable。 But
the pleasure he took from hearing the sordid details； bined
with all sorts of promises and invitations he offered up； made
me feel sick again。 I told him as calmly as possible that I
had a lot to deal with right now； to please stop calling in
the meantime； that I’d get in touch if and when I felt like
it。
Since they miraculously didn’t yet know that I’d flunked out
of my job； Monsieur Renaud and entourage fell all over
themselves on hearing that an emergency at Home demanded I
return immediately。 It took only a half hour for a small army
of hotel staff to book me on the next flight to New York； pack
my bags； and tuck me into the backseat of a limo stocked with
a full bar bound for Charles de Gaulle。 The driver was chatty；
but I didn’t really respond： I wanted to enjoy my last moments
as the lowest…paid but most highly perked assistant in the
free world。 I poured myself one final flute of perfectly dry
champagne and took a long； slow； luxurious sip。 It had taken
eleven months； forty…four weeks； and some 3；080 hours of work
to figure out—once and for all—that morphing into Miranda
Priestly’s mirror image was probably not such a good thing。
Instead of a uniformed driver with a sign