Starting Monday would be impossible. I had nowhere to live. Home base was my parents’ house in Avon, the place I’d grudgingly moved back to after graduation, and where most of my things remained while I’d traveled during the summer. All of my interview-related clothes were piled on Lily’s couch. I’d been trying to do the dishes and empty her ashtrays and buy pints of Häagen-Dazs so she wouldn’t hate me, but I thought it only fair to give her a much-needed break from my unending presence, so I camped out on weekends at Alex’s. That put all of my weekend going-out clothes and fun makeup at Alex’s in Brooklyn, my laptop and mismatched suits at Lily’s Harlem studio, and the rest of my life at my parents’ house in Avon. I had no apartment in New York and didn’t particularly understand how everyone knew that Madison Avenue ran uptown but Broadway ran down. I didn’t actually know what uptown was. And she wanted me to start Monday?
‘Um, well, I don’t think I can do this Monday because I don’t currently live in New York,’ I quickly explained, clutching the phone, ‘and I’ll need a couple days to find an apartment and buy some furniture and move.’
‘Oh, well, then. I suppose Wednesday would be OK,’ she sniffed.
After a few more minutes of haggling, we finally settled on November 17, a week from Monday. That left me a little more than eight days to find and furnish a home in one of the craziest real estate markets in the world.
I hung up and flopped back down on the couch. My hands were trembling, and I let the phone drop to the floor. A week. I had a week to start working at the job I’d just accepted as Miranda Priestly’s assistant. But, wait! That’s what was bothering me … I hadn’t actually accepted the job because it hadn’t even been officially offered. Sharon hadn’t even had to utter the words ‘We’d like to make you an offer,’ since she took it for granted that anyone with some semblance of intelligence would obviously just accept. No one had so much as mentioned the word ‘salary.’ I almost laughed out loud. Was this some sort of war tactic they’d perfected? Wait until the victim was finally deep into REM sleep after an extremely stressful day and then throw some life-altering news at her? Or had she just assumed that it would be wasted time and breath to do something as mundane as make a job offer and wait for acceptance, considering that this was Runway magazine? Sharon had just assumed that of course I’d jump all over the chance, that I’d be thrilled with the opportunity. And, as they always were at Elias-Clark, she was right. It had all happened so fast, so frenetically, that I hadn’t had time to debate and deliberate as usual. But I had a good feeling that this was an opportunity I’d be crazy to turn down, that this could actually be a great first step to getting to The New Yorker. I had to try it. I was lucky to have it.
Newly energized, I gulped the rest of my coffee, brewed another cup for Alex, and took a quick, hot shower. When I went back into his room, he was just sitting up.
‘You’re dressed already?’ he asked, fumbling for the tiny wire-rimmed glasses he was blind without. ‘Did someone call this morning, or did I dream that?’
‘Not a dream,’ I said, crawling back under the covers even though I was wearing jeans and a turtleneck sweater. I was careful not to let my wet hair soak his pillows. ‘That was Lily. The HR woman from Elias-Clark called her place because that’s the number I gave them. And guess what?’
‘You got the job?’
‘I got the job!’
‘Oh, come here!’ he said, sitting up and hugging me. ‘I’m so proud of you! That’s great news, it really is.’
‘So you really think it’s a good opportunity? I know we talked about it, but they didn’t even give me a chance to decide. She just assumed that I’d want the job.’
‘It’s an amazing opportunity. Fashion isn’t the worst thing on earth – maybe it’ll even be interesting.’
I rolled my eyes.
‘OK, so maybe that’s going a little far. But with Runway on your résumé and a letter from this Miranda woman, and maybe even a few clips by the time you’re done, hell, you can do anything. The New Yorker will be beating down your door.’
‘I hope you’re right, I really do.’ I jumped up and starting throwing my things in my backpack. ‘Is it still OK if I borrow your car? The sooner I get home, the sooner I can get back. Not that it really matters, because I’m moving to New York. It’s official!’
Since Alex went home to Westchester twice a week to babysit his little brother when his mom had to work late, his mom had given him her old car to keep in the city. But he wouldn’t be needing it until Tuesday, and I’d be back before then. I had been planning to go home that weekend anyway, and now I’d have some good news to bring with me.
‘Sure. No problem. It’s in a spot about a half-block down on Grand Street. The keys are on the kitchen table. Call me when you get there, OK?’
‘Will do. Sure you don’t want to come? There’ll be great food – you know my mom orders in only the best.’
‘Sounds tempting. You know I would, but I organized some of the younger teachers to get together tomorrow night for happy hour. Thought it might help us all work as a team. I really can’t miss it.’
‘Goddamn do-gooder. Always doing good, spreading good cheer wherever you go. I’d hate you if I didn’t love you so much.’ I leaned over and kissed him good-bye.
I found his little green Jetta on the first try and only spent twenty minutes trying to find the parkway that would take me to 95 North, which was wide open. It was a freezing day for November; the temperature was in the midthirties, and there were slick frozen patches on the back roads. But the sun was out, the kind of winter glare that causes unaccustomed eyes to tear and squint, and the air felt clean and cold in my lungs. I rode the entire way with the window rolled down, listening to the ‘Almost Famous’ soundtrack on repeat. I worked my damp hair into a ponytail with one hand to keep it from flying in my eyes, and blew on my hands to keep them warm, or at least warm enough to grip the steering wheel. Only six months out of college, and my life was on the verge of bursting forward. Miranda Priestly, a stranger until yesterday but a powerful woman indeed, had handpicked me to join her magazine. Now I had a concrete reason to leave Connecticut and move – all on my own, as a real adult would – to Manhattan and make it my home. As I pulled into the driveway of my childhood house, sheer exhilaration took over. My cheeks looked red and windburned in the rearview mirror, and my hair was flying wildly about. There was no makeup on my face, and my jeans were dirty around the bottom from trudging through the city slush. But at that moment, I felt beautiful. Natural and cold and clean and crisp, I threw open the front door and called out for my mother. It was the last time in my life I remember feeling so light.
‘A week? Honey, I just don’t see how you’re going to start work in a week,’ my mother said, stirring her tea with a spoon. We were sitting at the kitchen table in our usual spots, my mother drinking her usual decaf tea with Sweet’N Low, me with my usual mug of English Breakfast and sugar. Even though I hadn’t lived at home in four years, all it took was an oversize mug of microwaved tea and a couple Reese’s peanut butter cups to make me feel like I’d never left.
‘Well, I don’t have a choice, and, honestly, I’m lucky to have that. You should’ve heard how hard-core this woman was on the phone,’ I said. Mom looked at me, expressionless. ‘But, whatever, I can’t worry about it. I did just get a job at a really famous magazine with one of the most powerful women in the industry. A job a million girls would die for.’
We smiled at each other, but her smile was tinged with sadness. ‘I’m so happy for you,’ she said. ‘Such a beautiful, grown-up daughter I have. Honey, I just know this is going to be the start of a wonderful, wonderful time in your life. Ah, I remember graduating