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时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第章

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  a falsetto voice。 “YOU’RE PRETTY; BUT TOO WHOLESOME。 AND THE OUTFIT 
  DOES NOTHING FOR YOU!”

  “My name’s Andrea。 I’m Miranda’s new assistant。”

  He moved his eyes up and down over my body; inspecting every inch。 
  Emily was watching the spectacle with a sneer on her face。 The 
  silence was unbearable。

  “KNEE…HIGH BOOTS? WITH A KNEE…LENGTH SKIRT? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? BABY 
  GIRL; IN CASE YOU’RE UNAWARE—IN CASE YOU MISSED THE BIG; BLACK SIGN 
  BY THE DOOR—THIS ISRUNWAY MAGAZINE; THE FUCKINGHIIPPEST MAGAZINE ON 
  EARTH。 ON EARTH! BUT NO WORRIES; HONEY; NIGEL WILL GET RID OF THAT 
  JERSEY MALL…RAT LOOK YOU’VE GOT GOING SOON ENOUGH。”

  He put both his massive hands on my hips and twirled me around。 I 
  could feel his eyes looking at my legs and tush。

  “SOON ENOUGH; SWEETIE; I PROMISE YOU; BECAUSE YOU’RE GOOD RAW 
  MATERIAL。 NICE LEGS; GREAT HAIR; AND NOT FAT。 I CAN WORK WITH NOT 
  FAT。 SOON ENOUGH; SWEETIE。”

  I wanted to be offended; to pull myself away from the grip he had on 
  my lower body; to take a few minutes and mull over the fact that a 
  plete stranger—and a coworker; no less—had just provided an 
  unsolicited and unflinchingly honest account of my outfit and my 
  figure; but I wasn’t。 I liked his kind green eyes that seemed to 
  laugh instead of taunt; but more than that; I liked that I had 
  passed。 This was Nigel— single name; like Madonna or Prince—the 
  fashion authority whom even I recognized from TV; magazines; the 
  society pages; everywhere; and he had called me pretty。 And said I 
  had nice legs! I let the mall…rat ment slide。 Iliked this guy。

  I heard Emily tell him to leave me alone from somewhere in the 
  background; but I didn’t want him to go。 Too late; he was already 
  heading for the door; his fur cape flapping behind him。 I wanted to 
  call out; tell him it had been nice to meet him; that I wasn’t 
  offended by what he said and was excited that he wanted to redo me。 
  But before I could say a thing; Nigel whipped around and covered the 
  space between us in two strides; each the length of a long jump。 He 
  planted himself directly in front of me; wrapped my entire body with 
  his massive; rippling arms; and pressed me to him。 My head rested 
  just below his chest; and I smelled the unmistakable scent of 
  Johnson’s Baby Lotion。 And just as I had the presence of mind to hug 
  him back; he flung me backward; engulfed both of my hands in his; 
  and screeched:

  “WELE TO THE DOLLHOUSE; BABY!”


  5

  “He said what?” Lily asked as she licked a spoonful of green tea ice 
  cream。 She and I had met at Sushi Samba at nine so I could update 
  her on my first day。 My parents had grudgingly forked over the 
  emergencies…only credit card again until I got my first paycheck。 
  Spicy tuna rolls and seaweed salads certainly felt like an 
  emergency; and so I silently thanked Mom and Dad for treating Lily 
  and me so well。

  “He said; ‘Wele to the dollhouse; baby。’ I swear。 How cool is 
  that?”

  She looked at me; mouth hung open; spoon suspended in midair。

  “You have the coolest job I’ve ever heard of;” said Lily; who always 
  talked about how she should’ve worked for a year before going back 
  to school。

  “It does seem pretty cool; doesn’t it? Definitely weird; but cool; 
  too。 Whatever;” I said; digging in to my oozing chocolate brownie。 
  “It’s not like I wouldn’t rather be a student again than doing any 
  of this。”

  “Yeah; I’m sure you’d just love to work part…time to finance your 
  obscenely expensive and utterly useless Ph。D。 You would; wouldn’t 
  you? You’re jealous that I get to bartend in an undergrad pub; get 
  hit on by freshmen until fourA 。M。 every night; and then head to 
  class all day; aren’t you? All of it knowing that if—and that’s a 
  big; fat if—you manage to finish at some point in the next seventeen 
  years; you’ll never get a job。 Anywhere。” She plastered on a big; 
  fake smile and took a swig of her Sapporo。 Lily was studying for her 
  Ph。D。 in Russian Literature at Columbia and working odd jobs every 
  free second she wasn’t studying。 Her grandmother barely had enough 
  money to support herself; and Lily wouldn’t qualify for grants until 
  she’d finished her master’s; so it was remarkable she’d even e 
  out that night。

  I took the bait; as I always did when she bitched about her life。 
  “So why do you do it; Lil?” I asked; even though I’d heard the 
  answer a million times。

  Lily snorted and rolled her eyes again。 “Because I love it!” she 
  sang sarcastically。 And even though she’d never admit it because it 
  was so much more fun to plain; she did love it。 She’d developed a 
  thing for Russian culture ever since her eighth…grade teacher told 
  her that Lily looked how he had always pictured Lolita; with her 
  round face and curly black hair。 She went directly Home and read 
  Nabokov’s masterpiece of lechery; never allowing the whole 
  teacher…Lolita reference to bother her; and then read everything 
  else Nabokov wrote。 And Tolstoy。 And Gogol。 And Chekhov。 By the time 
  college rolled around; she was applying to Brown to work with a 
  specific Russian lit professor who; upon interviewing 
  seventeen…year…old Lily; had declared her one of the most well read 
  and passionate students of Russian literature he’d ever 
  met—undergrad; graduate; or otherwise。 She still loved it; still 
  studied Russian grammar and could read anything in its original; but 
  she enjoyed whining about it more。

  “Yeah; well; I definitely agree that I have the best gig around。 I 
  mean; Tommy Hilfiger? Chanel? Oscar de la Renta’s apartment? Quite a 
  first day。 I have to say; I’m not quite sure how all of this is 
  going to get me any closer toThe New Yorker; but maybe it’s just too 
  early to tell。 It’s just not seeming like reality; you know?”

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