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But； remarkably； there was an English…speaking attendant in the
booth who instructed me to take the 6 train to 59th Street。 She said
I’d exit right on 59th and would have to walk two blocks west to
Madison。 Easy。 I rode the cold train in silence； one of the only
people crazy enough to be awake and actually moving at such a
miserable hour in the middle of November。 So far； so good—no
glitches until it was time to make my way up to street level。
I took the nearest stairs and stepped out into a frigid day where
the only light I saw was emanating from twenty…four…hour bodegas。
Behind me was Bloomingdale’s； but nothing else looked familiar。
Elias…Clark； Elias…Clark； Elias…Clark。 Where was that building？ I
turned in my place 180 degrees until I saw a street sign： 60th
Street and Lexington。 Well； 59th can’t be that far away from 60th；
but which way should I walk to make the streets go west？ And where
was Madison in parison to Lexington？ Nothing looked familiar from
my visit to the building the week before； since I’d been dropped off
right in front。 I strolled for a bit； happy to have left enough time
to get as lost as I was； and finally ducked into a deli for a cup of
Coffee。
“Hello； sir。 I can’t seem to find my way to the Elias…Clark
building。 Could you please point me in the right direction？” I asked
the nervous…looking man behind the cash register。 I tried not to
smile sweetly； remembering what everyone had told me about not being
in Avon anymore； and how people here don’t exactly respond well to
good manners。 He scowled at me； and I got nervous it was because he
thought me rude。 I smiled sweetly。
“One dollah；” he said； holding out his hand。
“You’re charging me for directions？”
“One dollah； skeem or bleck； you peek。”
I stared at him for a moment before I realized he knew only enough
English to converse about Coffee。 “Oh； skim would be perfect。 Thank
you so much。” I handed over a dollar and headed back outside； more
lost than ever。 I asked people who worked at newsstands； as street
sweepers； even a man who was tucked inside one of those movable
breakfast carts。 Not a single one understood me well enough to so
much as point in the direction of 59th and Madison； and I had brief
flashbacks to Delhi； Depression； dysentery。No！ I will find it。
A few more minutes of wandering aimlessly around a waking midtown
actually landed me at the front door of the Elias…Clark building。
The lobby glowed behind the glass doors in the early…morning
darkness； and it looked； for those first few moments； like a warm；
weling place。 But when I pushed the revolving door to enter； it
fought me。 Harder and harder I pushed； until my body weight was
thrust forward and my face was nearly pressed against the glass； and
only then did it budge。 When it did begin to move； it slid slowly at
first； prompting me to push ever harder。 But as soon as it picked up
some momentum； the glass behemoth whipped around； hitting me from
behind and forcing me to trip over my feet and shuffle visibly to
remain standing。 A man behind the security desk laughed。
“Tricky； eh？ Not the first time I seen that happen； and won’t be the
last；” he chortled； fleshy cheeks jiggling。 “They getcha good here。”
I looked him over quickly and decided to hate him and knew that he
would never like me； regardless of what I said or how I acted。 I
smiled anyway。
“I’m Andrea；” I said； pulling a knit mitten from my hand and
reaching over the desk。 “Today’s my first day of work atRunway 。 I’m
Miranda Priestly’s new assistant。”
“And I’m sorry！” he roared； throwing his round head back with glee。
“Just call me ‘Sorry for You’！ Hah！ Hah！ Hah！ Hey； Eduardo； check
this out。 She’s one of Miranda’s newslaves ！ Where you from； girl；
bein’ all friendly and shit？ Topeka fuckin’ Kansas？ She is gonna eat
you alive； hah； hah； hah！”
But before I could respond； a portly man wearing the same uniform
came over and with no subtlety whatsoever looked me up and down。 I
braced for more mocking and guffaws； but it didn’t e。 Instead； he
turned a kind face to mine and looked me in the eyes。
“I’m Eduardo； and this idiot here’s Mickey；” he said； motioning to
the first man； who looked annoyed that Eduardo had acted civilly and
ruined all the fun。 “Don’t make no never mind of him； he’s just
kiddin’ with you。” He spoke with a mixed Spanish and New York
accent； as he picked up a sign…in book。 “You just fill out this here
information； and I’ll give you a temporary pass to go upstairs。 Tell
’em you need a card wit your pitcher on it from HR。”
I must have looked at him gratefully； because he got embarrassed and
shoved the book across the counter。 “Well； go on now； fill ’er out。
And good luck today； girl。 You gonna need it。”
I was too nervous and exhausted at this point to ask him to explain；
and besides； I didn’t really have to。 About the only thing I’d had
time to do in the week between accepting the job and starting work
was to learn a little bit about my new boss。 I had Googled her and
was surprised to find that Miranda Priestly was born Miriam
Princhek； in London’s East End。 Hers was like all the other orthodox
Jewish families in the town； stunningly poor but devout。 Her father
occasionally worked odd jobs； but mostly they relied on the
munity for support since he spent most of his days studying
Jewish texts。 Her mother had died in childbirth with Miriam； and it
washer mother who moved in and helped raise the children。 And were
there children！ Eleven in all。 Most of her brothers and sisters went
on to work blue…collar jobs like their father； with little time to
do anything but pray and work； a couple managed to get themselves
into