Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Knowing, Chasing Harry Winston, Last Night at Chateau Marmont

‘Oh, say it isn’t true,’ I moaned, wondering what my friend had gotten herself into now. ‘And a cop saw her and arrested her?’

‘No, evidently two little kids saw her do it and pointed it out to their mother …’

‘Oh, god.’

‘So, the mother asked her to pull her pants back up, and Lily loudly told her what she could do with her opinions, and the woman went and found a cop standing on the next street over.’

‘Oh, stop. Oh, please, just stop.’

‘It gets better. By the time the woman and the cop came back, Lily and Tongue Ring Boy were going at it on the street, pretty hot and heavy from what she said.’

‘Who is this? This is my friend Lily Goodwin? My sweet, adorable best friend from eighth grade now gets naked and hooks up on street corners? With guys who have tongue rings?’

‘Andy, calm down. Really, she’s fine. The only reason the cop actually arrested her was because she gave him the finger when he asked if she had, in fact, pulled her pants down …’

‘Oh, my god. I can’t take it anymore. This is what it must feel like to be a mother.’

‘… but they let her go with just a warning, and she’s going back to her apartment to recover – sounds like she was pretty drunk. I mean, why else would someone flip off a police officer? So don’t worry. Let’s get you moved in and then we can go see her if you want.’ He headed toward the cart my dad had left in the middle of the living room and started unloading boxes.

I couldn’t wait until later; I had to see what had happened. She picked up on the fourth ring, right before it clicked into voice mail, as if she’d been debating whether or not to answer it.

‘Are you OK?’ I asked her the second I heard her voice.

‘Hey, Andy. Hope I’m not screwing up the move at all. You don’t need me, right? Sorry about all this.’

‘No, I don’t care about that, I care about you. Are you OK?’ It had just occurred to me that Lily may have spent the night at the police station, considering that it was early Saturday morning and she was just leaving. ‘Did you stay overnight? In jail?’

‘Well, yeah, I guess you could say that. It wasn’t so bad, nothing like TV or anything. I just slept in this room with one other totally harmless girl who was in for something just as stupid. The guards were totally cool – it really wasn’t a big deal. No bars or anything.’ She laughed, but it sounded hollow.

I digested this for a moment, tried to reconcile the image of sweet little hippie Lily getting cornered in a urine-flooded cell by an extremely angry and possessive lesbian. ‘Where the hell was Tongue Ring Boy through all of this? Did he just leave you to rot in jail?’ But before she could answer, it occurred to me: Where the hell was I through all of this? Why hadn’t Lily called me?

‘He was actually really great, he—’

‘Lily, why—’

‘… offered to stay with me and even called his parents’ lawyer—’

‘Lily. Lily! Stop for a second. Why didn’t you call me? You know I would’ve been there in a second and not left until they’d let you go. So why? Why didn’t you call me?’

‘Oh, Andy, it doesn’t matter anymore. It really wasn’t that bad, I swear. I can’t believe how stupid I was, and trust me, I’m over getting that drunk. It’s just not worth it.’

‘Why? Why didn’t you call? I was home all night.’

‘It’s not important, really. I didn’t call because I figured you were either working or really, really tired, and I didn’t want to bother you. Especially on a Friday night.’

I thought back to what I’d been doing the night before and the only thing that stuck clearly in my mind was watching Dirty Dancing on TNT for exactly the sixty-eighth time in my life. And out of all those times, that had been the first that I’d fallen asleep before Johnny announced, ‘No one puts Baby in the corner,’ and proceeded to, quite literally, lift her off her feet, until Dr Houseman admits that he knows Johnny wasn’t the one who got Penny in trouble, and claps him on the back and kisses Baby, who has recently reclaimed the name Frances. I considered the whole scene a defining factor in my identity.

‘Working? You thought I was working? And what does too tired have to do with it when you need help? Lil, I don’t get it.’

‘Look, Andy, let’s drop it, OK? You work constantly. Day and night, and lots of times on weekends. And when you’re not working, you’re complaining about work. Not that I don’t understand, because I know how tough your job is, and I know you work for a lunatic. But I wasn’t going to be the one to interrupt a Friday night when you might actually be relaxing or hanging out with Alex. I mean, he says he never sees you, and I didn’t want to take that away from him. If I’d really needed you, I would’ve called, and I know you would’ve come running. But I swear, it wasn’t so bad. Please, can we forget it? I’m exhausted and I really need a shower and my own bed.’

I was so stunned I couldn’t speak, but Lily took my silence for acquiescence.

‘You there?’ she asked after nearly thirty seconds, during which I was desperately trying to find the words to apologize or explain or something. ‘Listen, I just got home. I need sleep. Can I call you later?’

‘Um, uh, sure,’ I managed. ‘Lil, I’m so sorry. If I’ve ever given you the impression that you can’t—’

‘Andy, don’t. Nothing’s wrong – I’m fine, we’re fine. Let’s just talk later.’

‘OK. Sleep well. Call me if I can do anything …’

‘Will do. Oh, how’s the new place, by the way?’

‘It’s great, Lil, it really is. You did a fantastic job with it. It’s better than I’d ever imagined. We’re going to love it here.’ My voice sounded empty to my own ears, and it was obvious I was talking just for the sake of it, keeping her on the phone to make sure our friendship hadn’t changed in some inexplicable but permanent way.

‘Great. I’m so glad you like it. Hopefully Tongue Ring Boy will like it, too,’ she joked, although that, too, sounded hollow.

We hung up and I stood in the living room, staring at the phone until my mom walked in to announce that they were going to take Alex and me out for lunch.

‘What’s wrong, Andy? And where’s Lily? I figured she’d need some help with her stuff, too, but we’re not going to stick around much after three. Is she on her way?’

‘No, she’s, uh, she got sick last night. It’s been coming on for a few days, I guess, so she probably won’t move in until tomorrow. That was just her on the phone.’

‘Well, you’re sure she’s all right? Do you think we should go over there? I always feel so badly for that girl – no real parents, just that cranky old bat of a grandmother.’ She put her hand on my shoulder, as if to drive home the pain. ‘She’s lucky she’s got you for a friend. Otherwise she’d be all alone in the world.’

My voice caught in my throat, but after a few seconds I managed a few words. ‘Yeah, I guess so. But she’s fine, she really is. Just going to sleep it off. Let’s get sandwiches, OK? The doorman said there’s a great deli four blocks down.’

‘Miranda Priestly’s office,’ I answered in my now usual bored tone that I hoped conveyed my misery to whoever was daring to interrupt my e-mailing time.

‘Hi, is that Em-Em-Em-Emily?’ asked a lisping, stuttering voice on the other end.

‘No, it’s Andrea. I’m Miranda’s new assistant,’ I said, even though I’d already introduced myself to a thousand curious callers.

‘Ah, Miranda’s new assistant,’ the strange female voice roared. ‘Aren’t you the luckiest girl in the w-w-w-world! How are you finding your tenure with supreme evil thus far?’

I perked up. This was new. In all the days I’d worked at Runway, I’d never met a single person who dared to badmouth Miranda so boldly. Was she serious? Could she be baiting me?

‘Um, well, working at Runway has been a really great learning experience,’ I heard myself stutter. ‘It’s a job a million girls would die for, of course.’ Did I just say that?

There was a moment of silence, followed by a hyena-like howl. ‘Oh, that’s just f-f-f-fucking perfect!’ she screeched, doing some sort of simultaneous laugh-choke. ‘Does she lock you in your West Village studio apartment and deprive you of all things G-g-g-gucci until you’re brainwashed enough to actually say shit like that? F-f-f-fantastic! That woman is really a piece of work! Well, Miss Learning Experience, I’d heard through the grapevine that Miranda had actually hired herself a thinking l-l-l-l-lackey this time around, but I see that the grapevine, as usual, is wrong. You like Michael Kors t-t-twinsets and all the pretty fur coats at J. Mendel’s? Yes, sweetie, you’ll do just fine. Now put that skinny-ass boss of yours on the phone.’

I was conflicted. My first impulse was to tell her to fuck off, tell her she didn’t know me, that it’s easy to see she tries to compensate for her stuttering with a major attitude problem. More than that, though, I wanted to press the phone close to my lips and urgently whisper, ‘I am a prisoner, more than you can imagine – please, oh, please, come and rescue me from this brainwash hell. You’re right, it’s just the way you describe, but I’m different!’ But I didn’t get the chance to do either, because it finally occurred to me that I had no idea who owned the raspy, stuttering voice on the other end of the phone.

I sucked in my breath and decided to hit her point for point – on every subject but Miranda. ‘Well, I do adore Michael Kors, of course, but I must tell you that it’s certainly not because of his twinsets. Furs from J. Mendel’s are wonderful, of course, but a real Runway girl – that is, someone with discriminating and impeccable taste – would probably prefer something custom made from Pologeorgis on Twenty-ninth Street. Oh, and for the future, I’d prefer if you used the more casual “hired help” instead of something as stiff and unforgiving as “lackey.” Now, of course, I’ll be happy to correct any more incorrect assumptions you’d care to make, but maybe I could ask with whom am I speaking first?’

‘Touché, Miranda’s new assistant, touché. You and I m-m-may be friends after all. I d-d-d-don’t much like the usual robots she hires, but it’s fitting because I don’t much like her. My name is Judith Mason, and in c-c-case you aren’t aware, I author your travel articles each m-m-m-month. Now, tell me this, since you’re still relatively new now: Is the h-h-honeymoon over?’

I was silent. What did she mean by this? It was like talking to a ticking bomb.