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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？”
“Well； anytime you feel like getting back in touch with reality； you
know where to find me；” Lily said； taking her MetroCard out of her
purse。 “If you get a craving for a little ghetto； if you’re just
dying to keep it real in Harlem； well； my luxurious
two…hundred…and…fifty…square…foot studio is all yours。”
I paid the check and we hugged good…bye； and she tried to give me
specific instructions on how to get from Seventh Avenue and
Christopher Street to my own sublet all the way uptown。 I swore up
and down that I understood exactly where to find the L…train and
then the 6； and how to walk from the 96th Street stop to my
apartment； but as soon as she left； I jumped in a cab。
Just this once；I thought to myself； sinking into the warm backseat
and trying not to breathe in the driver’s body odor。I’m a Runwaygirl
now 。
I was pleased to discover that the rest of that first week wasn’t
much different than the first day。 On Friday； Emily and I met in the
stark white lobby again at sevenA 。M。； and this time she handed me
my own ID card； plete with a picture that I didn’t remember
taking。
“From the security camera；” she said when I stared at it。 “They’re
everywhere around here； just so you know。 They’ve had some major
problems with people stealing stuff； the clothes and jewelry called
in for shoots； it seems the messengers and sometimes even the
editors just help themselves。 So now they track everyone。” She slid
her card down the slot and the thick glass door clicked open。
“Track？ What exactly do you mean by ‘track’？”
She moved quickly down the hallway toward our offices； her hips
swishing back and forth； back and forth in the skintight tan Seven
cords she was wearing。 She’d told me the day before that I should
seriously consider getting a pair or ten； as these were among the
only jeans or corduroys that Miranda would permit people to wear in
the office。 Those and the MJ’s were OK； but only on Friday； and only
if worn with high heels。 MJ’s？ “Marc Jacobs；” she had said；
exasperated。
“Well； between the cameras and the cards； they kind of know what
everyone’s doing；” she said as she dropped her Gucci logo tote on
her desk。 She began unbuttoning her very fitted leather blazer； a
coat that looked supremely inadequate for the late…November weather。
“I don’t think they actually look at the cameras unless something’s
missing； but the cards tell everything。 Like； every time you swipe
it downstairs to get past the security counter or on the floor to
get in the door； they know where you are。 That’s how they tell if
people are at work； so if you have to be out—and you never will； but
just in case something really awful happens—you’ll just give me your
card and I’ll swipe it。 That way you’ll still get paid for all the
days you miss； even if you go over。 You’ll do the same for
me—everyone does it。”
I was still reeling from the “and you never will” part； but she
continued her briefing。
“And that’s how you’ll get food in the dining room also。 It’s a
debit card： just put on some money and it gets deducted at the
register。 Of course； that’s how they can tell what you’re eating；”
she said； unlocking Miranda’s office door and plopping herself on
the floor。 She immediately reached for a boxed bottle of wine and
began wrapping。
“Do they care what you eat？” I asked； feeling as though I’d just
stepped directly into a scene fromSliver。
“Um； I’m not sure。 Maybe？ I just know they can tell。 And the gym；
too。 You have to use it there； and at the newsstand to buy books or
magazines。 I think it just helps them stay organized。”
Stay organized？ I was working for a pany who defined good
“organization” as knowing which floor each employee visited； whether
they preferred onion soup or Caesar salad for lunch； and just how
many minutes they could tolerate the elliptical machine？ I was a
lucky； lucky girl。
Exhausted from my fourth morning of waking up at five…thirty； it
took me another five full minutes to work up the energy to climb out
of my coat and settle down at my desk。 I thought about putting my
head down to rest for just a moment； but Emily cleared her throat。
Loudly。
“Um； you want to get in here and help me？” she asked； although it
was clearly no question。 “Here； wrap something。” She thrust a pile
of white paper my way and resumed her task。 Jewel blasted from the
extra speakers attached to her iMac。
Cut； place； fold； tape：Emily and I worked steadily through the
morning； stopping only to call the downstairs messenger center each
time we’d finished with twenty…five boxes。 They’d hold them until we
gave the green light for them to be fanned out all over Manhattan in
mid…December。 We’d already pleted all of the out…of…town bottles
during my first two days； and those were piled in the Closet waiting
for DHL to pick them up。 Considering each and every one was set to
be sent first…day priority； arriving at their locations at the
earliest possible time the very next morning； I wasn’t sure what the
rush was—considering it was only the end of November—but I’d already
learned it was better not to ask questions。 We would be FedExing
about 150 bottles all over the world。 The Priestly bottles would
make it to Paris； Cannes； Bordeaux； Milan； Rome； Florence；
Barcelona； Geneva； Brugges； Stockholm； Amsterdam； and London。 Dozens
to London！ FedEx would jet them to Beijing and Hong Kong and
Capetown and Tel Aviv and Dubai （Dubai！）。 They would be toasting
Miranda Priestly in Los Angeles； Honolulu； New Orleans； Charleston；
Ho