‘Yes. I had my doctor call her, actually, because she didn’t think that having mono really qualified me as sick, so he had to tell her that I could infect her and everyone else, and anyway …’ Her sentence trailed off, and her tone was suggestive of something far, far worse.
‘Anyway what?’ My self-preservation instincts had kicked into overdrive.
‘Anyway … she wants you to go with her.’
‘She wants me to go with her, huh? That’s cute. What’d she really say? She didn’t threaten to fire you for getting sick, did she?’
‘Andrea, I’m—’ a deep, mucousy cough shook her voice and I thought for a moment that she might very well die right there on the phone with me ‘—serious. Completely and totally serious. She said something about the assistants they give her abroad being idiots and that even you’d be better to have around than them.’
‘Oh, well, when you put it like that, sign me up! Nothing quite like some over-the-top flattery to convince me to do something. Seriously, she shouldn’t have said such nice things. I’m blushing!’ I didn’t know whether to focus on the fact that Miranda wanted me to go to Paris with her, or that she only wanted me to go because she considered me slightly less brain-dead than the anorexic French clones of, well … me.
‘Oh, just shut up already,’ she croaked in between fits of now annoying coughing. ‘You’re the luckiest fucking person in the world. I’ve been waiting two years – over two years – for this trip, and now I can’t go. The irony of this is painful – you realize that, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do! It’s one giant cliché: this trip is your sole reason for living and it’s the bane of my existence, yet I’m going and you’re not. Life is funny, huh? I’m laughing so hard I can barely stop,’ I deadpanned, sounding not the least bit amused.
‘Yeah, well, I think it sucks, too, but what can you do? I already called Jeffy to tell him to start calling in clothes for you. You’ll have to bring a ton since you’ll need different outfits for each of the shows you attend, any dinners, and, of course, for Miranda’s party at the Hotel Costes. Allison will help you out with makeup. Talk to Stef in accessories for bags and shoes and jewelry. You only have a week, so get on it first thing tomorrow, OK?’
‘I still don’t really believe she expects me to do this.’
‘Well, believe it, because she sure wasn’t kidding. Since I’m not going to be able to come to the office at all this week, you’re also going to—’
‘What? You’re not even going to come into the office?’ I might not have taken a sick day or spent a single hour outside the office while Miranda was there, but Emily hadn’t, either. The one time it had been close – when her great-grandfather had died – she’d managed to get home to Philadelphia, attend the funeral, and be back at her desk without missing a minute of work. This was how things worked. Period. Short of death (immediate family only), dismemberment (your own), or nuclear war (only if confirmed by the U.S. government to be directly affecting Manhattan), one was to be present. This would be a watershed moment in the Priestly regime.
‘Andrea, I have mononucleosis. I’m highly infectious. It’s really serious. I’m not supposed to leave my apartment for a cup of coffee, never mind go to work for the day. Miranda understands that, and so you’ll need to pick up the slack. There will be a lot to do to get both of you ready for Paris. Miranda leaves on Wednesday for Milan, and then you’ll be leaving to meet her in Paris the following Tuesday.’
‘She understands that? C’mon! Tell me what she really said.’ I refused to believe that she’d accepted something as mundane as mono for an excuse to not be available. ‘Just give me that small pleasure. After all, my life will be hell for the next few weeks.’
Emily sighed, and I could feel her eyes roll over the phone. ‘Well, she wasn’t thrilled. I didn’t actually talk to her, you see, but my doctor said she kept asking if mono is a “real” disease. But when he assured her that it was, she was very understanding.’
I laughed out loud. ‘I’m sure she was, Em, I’m sure she was. Don’t worry about a thing, OK? You just concentrate on feeling better, and I’ll take care of everything else.’
‘I’ll e-mail you a checklist, just so you don’t forget anything.’
‘I won’t forget anything. She’s been to Europe four times in the past year. I’ve got it down. I’ll get the cash from the basement bank, change a few grand into euros, buy a few more grands’ worth of traveler’s checks, and triple confirm all of her hair and makeup appointments while she’s there. What else? Oh, I’ll make sure the Ritz gives her the right cell phone this time, and I’ll speak to the drivers ahead of time to make sure they know they can’t ever leave her waiting. I’m already thinking of all the people who’ll need copies of her itinerary – which I’ll type up, no problem – and I’ll see to it that it gets passed around. And of course she’ll have a detailed itinerary as to the twins’ classes, lessons, practices, and play dates, and full listings of the entire household staff’s work schedules. See! You don’t have to worry – I’ve got it all under control.’
‘Don’t forget about the velvet,’ she chided, singing the last couple words as if on autopilot. ‘Or the scarves!’
‘Of course not! They’re already on my list.’ Before Miranda packed for anything – or rather, had her housekeeper pack her – either Emily or I would purchase massive rolls of velvet at a fabric store and bring them to Miranda’s apartment. There, we’d work with the housekeeper to cut them in the exact shape and size of every article of clothing she was planning to bring, and individually wrap each item in the plush material. The velvet packages were then neatly stacked in dozens of Louis Vuitton suitcases, with plenty of extra pieces included for when she inevitably threw the first batch out upon unpacking in Paris. In addition, usually one half of a suitcase was occupied by a couple dozen orange Hermès boxes, each containing a single white scarf just waiting to be lost, forgotten, misplaced, or simply discarded.
I hung up with Emily after making a good effort to sound sincerely sympathetic and found Lily stretched out on the couch, smoking a cigarette and sipping a clear liquid that was definitely not water from a cocktail glass.
‘I thought we weren’t allowed to smoke in here,’ I said, flopping down next to her and immediately putting my feet on the scuffed wooden coffee table my parents had handed down to us. ‘Not that I care, but that was your rule.’ Lily wasn’t a full-time, committed smoker like yours truly; she usually smoked only when she drank and wasn’t one to even buy packs. A brand-new box of Camel Special Lights peeked out of the chest pocket of her oversize button-down. I nudged her thigh with my slippered foot and nodded toward the cigarettes. She handed them over with a lighter.
‘I knew you wouldn’t care,’ she said, taking a leisurely drag off her cigarette. ‘I’m procrastinating and it helps me concentrate.’
‘What do you have due?’ I asked, lighting my own cigarette and tossing back the lighter. She was taking seventeen credits this semester in an effort to pull up her GPA after last spring’s mediocre showing. I watched as she took another drag and washed it down with a healthy gulp of her nonwater beverage. It didn’t appear that she was on the right track.
She sighed heavily, meaningfully, and let the cigarette hang suspended from the corner of her mouth as she spoke. It flapped up and down, threatening to fall at any moment and, combined with her wild, unwashed hair and smeared eye makeup, made her look – just for a moment – like a defendant on Judge Judy (or maybe a plaintiff, since they always looked the same – lack of teeth, greasy hair, dull eyes, and propensity for using the double negative). ‘An article for some totally random, esoteric academic journal that no one will ever read but I still have to write, just so I can say I’m published.’
‘That’s annoying. When’s it due?’
‘Tomorrow.’