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single word that woman utters？ It’s not me； Em。 I speak English；
always have。 I know she does it to personally drive me crazy。”
Emily looked at me with her usual mix of disgust and pity。 “Since
the book es out tomorrow and they’re not here to buy it； she
wants you to pick up two copies and bring them to Teterboro。 The jet
will take them to Paris；” she summed up coldly； daring me to ment
on the ludicrousness of the instructions。 I was reminded once again
that Emily would do anything—really； anything—if it meant making
Miranda a bit more fortable。 I rolled my eyes and kept quiet。
Since I was NOT going to sacrifice a nanosecond of weekend to do her
bidding； and because I had an unlimited amount of money and power
（hers） at my personal disposal； I spent the rest of the day
arranging for Harry Potter to jet his way to Paris。 First； a few
words for Julia at Scholastic。
Dearest Julia；
My assistant； Andrea； tells me that you’re the sweetheart to whom I
should address my most heartfelt appreciation。 She has informed me
that you are the single person capable of locating a couple copies
of this darling book for me tomorrow。 I want you to know how much I
appreciate your hard work and cleverness。 Please know how happy
you’ll make my sweet daughters。 And don’t ever hesitate to let me
know if you need anything； anything at all； for a fabulous girl like
yourself。
XOXO；
Miranda Priestly
I forged her name with a perfect flourish （hour upon hour of
practicing with Emily standing over me； instructing me to make the
final “a” a little loopier； had finally paid off）； attached the note
to the latest issue ofRunway —one not yet on the newsstand—and
called for a rush messenger to deliver the entire package to
Scholastic’s downtown office。 If this didn’t work； nothing would。
Miranda didn’t care that we forged her signature—it saved her from
bothering with details—but she’d probably be livid to see that I’d
penned something so polite； soadorable； using her name。
Three short weeks earlier I would have quickly canceled my plans if
Miranda called and wanted me to do something for her on the
weekends； but I was now experienced—and jaded—enough to bend the
rules a little。 Since Miranda and the girls would not themselves be
at the airport in New Jersey whenHarry arrived the following day； I
saw no reason why I had to be the one to deliver him。 Acting under
the assumption and prayer that Julia would pull through for me with
a couple copies； I worked out some details。 Dial； dial； and within
an hour a plan had emerged。
Brian； a cooperative editorial assistant at Scholastic—whom I was
assured would have permission from Julia within a couple hours—would
take Home two office copies ofHarry that evening； so he wouldn’t
have to go back to the office on Saturday。 Brian would leave the
books with the doorman of his Upper West Side apartment building；
and I would have a car pick them up the following morning at eleven。
Miranda’s driver； Uri； would then call me on my Cell Phone to
confirm that he’d received the package and was on his way to drop it
at Teterboro airport； where the two books would be transferred to
Mr。 Tomlinson’s private jet and flown to Paris。 I briefly considered
conducting the entire operation in code to make it resemble a KGB
operation even more； but dropped that when I remembered that Uri
didn’t really speak regular English that well。 I had checked to see
how fast the fastest DHL option would have them there； but delivery
couldn’t be guaranteed until Monday； which was obviously
unacceptable。 Hence the private plane。 If all went as planned；
little Cassidy and Caroline could wake up in their private Parisian
suite on Sunday and enjoy their morning milk while reading about
Harry’s adventures—a full day earlier than all of their friends。 It
warmed my heart； it really did。
Minutes after the cars had been reserved and all the appropriate
people put on alert； Julia called back。 Although it’d be a grueling
task and she was likely to get in trouble； she’d be happy to give
Brian two copies for Ms。 Priestly。 Amen。
“Do you believe he gotengaged ？” Lily asked as she rewound the copy
ofFerris Bueller we’d just finished。 “I mean； we’re twenty…three
years old for goodness sake—what’s the rush？”
“I know； it does seem weird。” I called from the kitchen。 “Maybe Mom
and Dad won’t let him have access to the massive trust fund until
he’s settled down？ That’d be enough motivation to put a ring on her
finger。 Or maybe he’s just lonely？”
Lily looked at me and laughed。 “Naturally； he can’t just be in love
with her and ready to spend the rest of his life with her； right？ I
mean； we’ve established that that’s totally out of the question；
right？”
“Correct。 That’s not an option。 Try again。”
“Well； then； I’m forced to pick curtain number three。 He’s gay。 He
finally came to the realization himself—even though I’ve known
forever—and realizes that Mom and Dad won’t be able to handle it； so
he’ll cover by marrying the first girl he can find。 What do you
think？”
Casablancawas next on the list； and Lily fast…forwarded past the
opening credits while I microwaved cups of hot chocolate in the tiny
kitchen of her nonalcove studio in Morningside Heights。 We lazed
around straight through Friday night—breaking only to smoke and make
another Blockbuster run。 Saturday afternoon found us particularly
motivated； and we managed to saunter down to SoHo for a few hours。
We each bought new tank tops for Lily’s uping New Year’s party
and shared an oversize mug of eggnog from a sidewalk café。 By the
time we made it back to her apartment on Saturday； we were exhausted
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