Revenge Wears Prada: The Devil Returns. Lauren Weisberger
earth would she be calling me? – it was Elias-Clark.’
‘Miranda!’ Andy whispered.
‘Not exactly. Some dude named Stanley who didn’t bother much with details or job titles, but I think I figured out from some Googling that he’s the general counsel for Elias-Clark.’
Andy leaned over and put her head between her knees for just a moment before ‘Call Me Maybe’ began blaring from the spin studio. She stood up and placed a hand over her free ear.
‘So yeah, I have no idea why he’s calling, but he left a message late last night saying it was important and to please call him back at my earliest convenience.’
‘Christ.’ Andy paced between the women’s locker room and the stretching mats. She could see Max doing lat pull-downs in the free-weight area.
‘Interesting, no? I have to say, I’m intrigued,’ Emily said.
‘It must have something to do with Miranda. I saw her last night. First in person and then in my nightmares. It was a very long night.’
‘You saw her? Where? On TV?’ Emily laughed.
‘Ha ha. Because my life is so unfabulous you can’t even imagine it, right? I saw her at Yacht Party! She was there with Valentino. We actually all had cocktails together and then the four of us went to Da Silvano for dinner. She was quite charming, I have to say. I was surprised.’
‘Oh my god, I’m dying right now! How could you not have called me the second you got home? Or from the bathroom of the restaurant? Andy, you’re lying right now! This is insane!’
Andy laughed. ‘Of course it’s insane, you lunatic. You think I just happened to share a plate of tagliatelle with Miranda and didn’t mention it to you? She was there last night, yes, but she didn’t so much as glance in my direction, and my entire interaction was with her Chanel Number Five as she blew past me without a glimmer of recognition.’
‘I hate you,’ Emily said.
‘I hate you, too. But seriously, don’t you think that’s too much of a coincidence? I see her last night for the first time in forever and she calls you the very next day?’
‘She didn’t call me. Stanley did,’ Emily said.
‘Same thing.’
‘Do you think they’re somehow onto our little habit of dropping Miranda’s name to book celebs? That’s not a crime, is it?’ Emily sounded concerned.
‘Maybe they finally figured out that you stole her entire two-thousand-person address book and they’re suing you to keep it under wraps?’ Andy offered.
‘From nine years ago? I don’t think so.’
Andy kneaded her aching calf muscles. ‘Maybe she decided that she wants you back. That you were the best dry-cleaning dropper-offer and lunch fetcher she’s ever had, and she simply can’t live without you.’
‘Adorable. Look, I’m jumping in the shower now and I’ll be out of here in thirty minutes. Meet me at the office?’
Andy looked at her watch, thrilled for the excuse to leave the gym. ‘All right. I’ll see you there.’
‘Oh, and Andy? I’m making the steak tonight. Come early and help me, okay? You can do the zucchini. Miles won’t be home until eight.’
‘Sounds good. I’ll tell Max to get in touch with Miles. See you soon.’
Pan-seared strip steaks and zucchini matchsticks had become their go-to meal for every dinner the girls had cooked for each other in over five years, ever since they’d learned to make it together in a remedial cooking class. It was the only dish either of them had actually mastered the entire semester. And no matter how many times they made the damn steak and zucchini – probably in the neighborhood of two or three times a month – it always made Andy think of 2004, the year after she left Runway and her entire world had changed.
Andy wasn’t one of those girls who remembered what she wore on every first day of school, third date, or birthday, or even when she had met certain friends or how she’d celebrated most holidays. But the year after Andy left Runway was etched forever in her mind: it wasn’t every year of your life that you quit your job, your parents got divorced, your boyfriend of six years dumped you, and your best friend (okay, fine, only friend) moved clear across the country.
It had started with Alex, a mere month after she returned from her infamous Fuck You Miranda Paris trip. Yes, she cringed inwardly every time she remembered the exchange, aghast at her own bad behavior. Yes, she thought it was just about the most unprofessional and uncouth way of leaving a job, no matter how dreaded said job was. And yes, if she had it to do all over again, could go back in time and relive that moment once more, she probably wouldn’t change a damn thing. It had just felt too good. Coming home – to Lily, to her family, and to Alex – had been the right thing to do, and the only part of it she regretted was not doing it earlier, but to her surprise, she didn’t just get to snap her fingers and have everything fall back into place. The year she’d spent at Runway fetching and finding and learning to navigate the scariest fashion shark tank imaginable had Andy so wrapped up in her own exhaustion and terror that she’d barely had a moment to notice what else was happening around her.
When had she and Alex grown so far apart that year that he no longer thought they had enough in common? He kept claiming everything had changed between them. He didn’t know her anymore. It was great she’d quit Runway, but why didn’t she realize she’d become a different person? The girl he’d fallen in love with answered only to herself, but the new Andy was too eager to do what everyone else wanted. What does that mean? Andy would ask, biting on her lip, feeling alternately sad and angry. Alex would just shake his head. They bickered constantly. He always seemed disappointed in her. By the time he finally said that he wanted a break, and oh, by the way, he was accepting a Teach for America transfer to the Mississippi Delta, Andy was devastated but not surprised. Officially, it was over, but it didn’t feel that way. They talked on the phone and saw each other intermittently for the next month. There was always a reason to call or e-mail, a fleece left behind, a question for her sister, a game plan to sell the David Gray tickets they’d bought months earlier for a concert in the fall. Even the good-bye felt surreal, perhaps the very first time Andy had ever felt awkward around Alex. She wished him good luck. His hug was brotherly. But deep down she was in denial: Alex couldn’t live in Mississippi forever. They would take some time, use the distance to think and breathe and figure things out, and then he’d realize he’d made a horrible mistake (both with Mississippi and with her) and come racing back to New York. They were meant to be together. Everyone knew it. It was only a matter of time.
Only Alex didn’t call. Not during his two-day drive there, not after he arrived, not once he settled into the cottage house he’d rented because his town was too small for apartment buildings. Andy kept making excuses for him, going through them in her mind like mantras. He’s tired from all the driving, he’s overwhelmed with regret about his new life, and her favorite, Mississippi must not have cell reception. But when three days passed, and then a week, and she still hadn’t received so much as an e-mail, it hit her: this was for real. Alex was gone. At the very least he was determined to distance himself, and he didn’t appear to be coming back. She cried every morning in the shower and every evening in front of the TV and occasionally in the middle of the day, just because she could. Writing for Happily Ever After, the up-and-coming wedding blog that had hired her to contribute copy on a freelance basis, didn’t help. Who was she to curate the perfect registry list or suggest some off-the-beaten-track honeymoon destinations when her boyfriend found her too hideous even to call?
‘Ex-boyfriend,’ Lily said when Andy posed this question to her. They were sitting in Lily’s childhood bedroom at her grandmother’s house in Connecticut, drinking some kind of syrupy citrus tea Lily had bought from the Korean manicurist who had served it at her last nail appointment.
Andy’s mouth dropped open. ‘Did