I checked out my black slingbacks again and wondered how to tell the most stylish woman in the western hemisphere that I was wearing a pair of shoes I’d purchased at Ann Taylor Loft. Another glance at her face and I knew I couldn’t.
‘I bought them in Spain,’ I said quickly, averting my eyes. ‘It was at some adorable boutique in Barcelona right off Las Ramblas that carried this new Spanish designer’s line.’ Where the hell had I pulled that one from?
She folded her hand into a fist, put it over her mouth, and cocked her head. I saw James approaching the glass door from the other side, but as soon as he saw Miranda he turned and fled. ‘Ahn-dre-ah, they’re unacceptable. My girls need to represent Runway magazine, and those shoes are not the message I’m looking to convey. Find some decent footwear in the Closet. And get me a coffee.’ She looked at me and looked at the door, and I understood I was to reach forward and open it for her, which I did. She walked through without saying thank you and headed back to the office. I needed to get money and my cigarettes for the coffee run, but neither was worth having to walk behind her like an abused but loyal duckling, and so I turned to walk back toward the elevator. Eduardo could spot me the five bucks for the latte, and Ahmed would just charge a new pack to Runway’s house account, as he’d been doing for months now. I hadn’t counted on her even noticing, but her voice hit the back of my head like a shovel.
‘Ahn-dre-ah!’
‘Yes, Miranda?’ I stopped in my tracks and turned to face her.
‘I expect the restaurant review I asked you for is on my desk?’
‘Um, well, actually, I’ve had a little trouble locating it. You see, I’ve spoken to all the papers and it seems none of them have run a review of an Asian fusion restaurant in the past few days. Do you, uh, happen to remember the name of the restaurant?’ Without realizing it, I was holding my breath and bracing for the onslaught.
It appeared my explanation held little interest for her, because she had resumed walking toward her office. ‘Ahn-dre-ah, I already told you that it was in the Post – is it really that difficult to find?’ And with that, she was gone. The Post? I’d spoken to their restaurant reviewer just that morning and he had sworn there were no reviews that fit my description – nothing noteworthy had opened that week whatsoever. She was cracking up, for sure, and I was the one who was going to get blamed.
The coffee run took only a few minutes since it was midday, so I felt free to tack on an extra ten minutes to call Alex, who would be having lunch at exactly twelve-thirty. Thankfully, he answered his cell phone, so I didn’t have to deal with any of the teachers again.
‘Hey babe, how’s your day going?’ He sounded cheerful to the point of excess, and I had to remind myself not to be irritated.
‘Awesome so far, as always. I really do love it here. I’ve spent the past five hours researching an imaginary article that was dreamed up by a delusional woman who would probably rather take her own life than admit she’s wrong. What about you?’
‘Well, I’ve had a great day. Remember I told you about Shauna?’ I nodded into the phone even though he couldn’t see me. Shauna was one of his little girls who had yet to utter a single word in class, and whether he threatened her or bribed her or worked with her one on one, Alex couldn’t get her to talk. He’d been near-hysterical the first time she’d shown up in his class, placed there by a social worker who’d discovered that even though she was nine years old she’d never been in the inside of a school, and he’d been obsessed with helping her ever since.
‘Well, it seems she won’t shut up! All it took was a little singing. I had a folk singer come in today to play the guitar for the kids, and Shauna was singing away. And once she broke the ice, she’s been jabbering away with everyone since. She knows English. She has an age-appropriate vocabulary. She’s completely and totally normal!’ His obvious elation made me smile, and all of a sudden I started to miss him. Miss him in the way that you do when you’ve seen someone frequently and regularly but haven’t really connected with him in any significant way. It had been great to surprise him the night before, but, as usual, I’d been too frazzled to be much company. We both inherently understood that we were just waiting out my sentence, waiting for me to complete my year of servitude, waiting until everything went back to the way it was. But I still missed him. And I still felt not a little guilty for the whole Christian situation.
‘Hey, congratulations! Not that you needed a testament to the fact that you’re a great teacher, but you got one anyway! You should be thrilled.’
‘Yeah, it’s exciting.’ I could hear the bell ring in the background.
‘Listen, is that offer still open for a date tonight – just you and me?’ I asked, hoping he hadn’t made plans yet but expecting that he had. As I’d pulled myself out of bed this morning and dragged my exhausted and sore body into the shower, he’d called out that he wanted to just rent a movie, order some food, and hang out. I’d mumbled something unnecessarily sarcastic about it not being worth his time because I wouldn’t get home until late and would just fall asleep, and at least one of us should have a life and enjoy their Friday night. I wanted to tell him now that I was angry at Miranda, at Runway, at myself, but not at him, and that there was nothing I’d rather do than curl up on the couch and cuddle for fifteen straight hours.
‘Sure.’ He sounded surprised, but pleased. ‘Why don’t I just wait at your place and then we can figure out what we want to do? I’ll just hang out with Lily until you get home.’
‘Sounds absolutely perfect. You can hear all about Freudian Boy.’
‘Who?’
‘Never mind. Listen, I’ve got to run. The Queen will wait for coffee no longer. See you tonight – can’t wait.’
Eduardo allowed me upstairs after chanting only two refrains – my choice – of ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire,’ and Miranda was talking animatedly when I set down her coffee spread on the left-hand corner of her desk. I spent the rest of the afternoon arguing with every assistant and editor I could reach at the New York Post, trying to insist that I knew their paper better than they did, and could I please just have one little copy of the Asian fusion restaurant review they’d run the day before?
‘Ma’am, I’ve told you a dozen times and I’ll tell you again: we did not review any such restaurant. I know Ms Priestly is a crazy woman and I don’t doubt that she’s making your life a living hell, but I just can’t produce an article that doesn’t exist. Do you understand?’ This had come finally from an associate who, even though he worked on Page Six, had been assigned the task of finding my article to shut me up. He’d been patient and willing, but he’d reached the end of his charity work. Emily was on the other line with one of their freelance food writers, and I’d forced James to call one of his ex-boyfriends who worked in the advertising department there to see if there was anything – anything – he could do. It was already three o’clock the day after she’d requested something, and this was the very first time I hadn’t gotten it immediately.
‘Emily!’ Miranda called from inside her deceptively bright office.
‘Yes, Miranda?’ we both answered, jumping up to see which one of us she would motion to.
‘Emily, I can hear that you just spoke to the people at the Post?’ she said, directing her attention in my direction. The real Emily looked relieved and sat down.
‘Yes, Miranda, I just hung up with them. I’ve actually spoken to three different people there and all of them insist that they haven’t reviewed a single new Asian fusion restaurant in Manhattan at any point in the last week. Maybe it was before then?’ I was now tottering in front of her desk with my head bowed just enough so I could stare at the black Jimmy Choo slingbacks with four-inch heels that Jeffy had provided so smugly.
‘Manhattan?’ She looked confused and