时尚女魔头 穿普拉达的恶魔 英文原版-第76部分
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always preferred because people’s makeup would be fresh and
their clothes unwrinkled）； and whose messages got through （if
your name wasn’t on the Bulletin； you didn’t exist）。
So when either of us needed help； the rest of the staff were
obliged to pull through。 Yes； of course there was something
disconcerting about the realization that if we didn’t work for
Miranda Priestly these same people would have no punction
in running over us with their chauffeured Town Cars。 As it
was； when called upon； they ran and fetched and retrieved for
us like well…trained puppies。
Work on the current issue ground to a halt as everyone rallied
to send me off to Paris adequately prepared。 Three Clackers
from the fashion department hastily pulled together a wardrobe
that included every single item that I could conceivably
require for any event Miranda could conceivably call on me to
attend。 By the time I left； Lucia； the fashion director；
promised I would have in my possession not only an assemblage
of clothing appropriate for any contingency； but also a full
sketchbook plete with professionally rendered charcoal
sketches depicting every imaginable way of pairing the
aforementioned clothing in order to maximize style and
minimize embarrassment。 In other words： leave nothing to my
own selection or pairing； and I’d quite possibly have a shot
in hell—albeit slim—of looking presentable。
Might I need to acpany Miranda to a bistro and stand；
mummylike； in the corner while she sipped a glass of Bordeaux？
A pair of cuffed； charcoal gray Theory pants with a black silk
turtleneck sweater by Celine。 Attend the tennis club where
she’d receive her private lessons so that I could fetch water
and； if required； white scarves in case sheschvitzed ？ A
head…to…toe athletic outfit plete with bootleg workout
pants； zip…up hooded jacket （cropped to show off my tummy；
natch）； a 185 wife…beater to wear under it； and suede
sneakers—all by Prada。 And what if maybe—just maybe—I actually
did make it to the front row of one of those shows like
everyone swore I would？ The options were limitless。 My
favorite so far （and it was still only late afternoon on
Monday） was a pleated school…girl skirt by Anna Sui； with a
very sheer and very frilly white Miu Miu blouse； paired with a
particularly naughty…looking pair of midcalf Christian
Laboutin boots and topped with a Katayone Adeli leather blazer
so fitted it bordered on obscene。 My Express jeans and Franco
Sarto loafers had been buried under a film of dust in my
closet for months now； and I had to admit I didn’t miss them。
I also discovered that Allison； the beauty editor； did； in
fact； deserve her title by literallybeing the beauty industry。
Within twenty…four hours of being “put on notice” that I would
be needing some makeup and more than a few tips； she had
created the Be…All； End…All Cosmetic Catchall。 Included in the
decidedly oversize Burberry “toiletry case” （it actually more
closely resembled a wheeled suitcase slightly larger than
those approved by the airlines for carry…on） was every
imaginable type of shadow； lotion； gloss； cream； liner； and
type of makeup。 Lipsticks came in matte； high…shine；
long…lasting； and clear。 Six shades of mascara—ranging in
color from a light blue to a “pouty black”—were acpanied by
an eyelash curler and two eyelash bs in case of （gasp！）
clumps。
Powders； which appeared to account for half of all the
products and fixed/accentuated/accented/hid the eyelids； the
skin tone； and the cheeks； had a color scheme more plex and
subtler than a painter’s palette： some were meant to bronze；
others to highlight； and still others to pout； plump； or pale。
I had the choice whether to add that healthy blush to my face
in the form of a liquid； solid； powder； or a bination
thereof。 The foundation was the most impressive of all： it was
as if someone had managed to remove an actual sample of skin
directly from my face and custom…mix a pint or two of the
stuff。 Whether it “added sheen” or “covered blemishes；” every
single solitary little bottle matched my skin tone better
than； well； my own skin。 Packed in a slightly smaller matching
plaid case were the supplies： cotton balls； cotton squares；
Q…tips； sponges； somewhere in the vicinity of two dozen
different…size application brushes； washcloths； two different
types of eye makeup remover （moisturizing and oil…free）； and
no less than twelve—TWELVE—kinds of moisturizer （facial； body；
deep…conditioning； with SPF 15； glimmering； tinted； scented；
nonscented； hypoallergenic； with alpha…hydroxy； antibacterial；
and—just in case that nasty October Parisian sun got the best
of me—with aloe vera）。
Tucked in a side pocket of the smaller case were legal…size
pieces of paper with preprinted faces rendered on each one；
enlarged to fit the page。 Each face bragged an impressive
makeover： Allison had applied the actual makeup she’d included
in the kit to the paper faces。 One face was eerily labeled
“Relaxed Evening Glamour” but had a caveat under it in big；
bold marker that read： NOT FOR BLACK…TIE！！ TOO CASUAL！！ The
nonformal face had a light covering of the matte foundation
under a slight brush of bronzing powder； a light dab of liquid
or “crème” blush； some very sexy； dark…lined and heavily
shadowed eyelids accented by jet black mascara’d lashes； and
what appeared to be a quick； casual swipe of high…gloss lip
color。 When I’d mumbled under my breath to Allison that this
would be utterly impossible for me to recreate； she looked
exasperated。
“Well； hopefully you won’t have to；” she said in a voice that
sounded so taxed； I thought she might collapse under the
weight of my ignorance。
“No？ Then why do I have nearly two dozen ‘faces’ suggesting
different ways to use all this stuff？”
Her withering glance was worthy of Miranda。
“Andrea。 Be serious。 This is for emergencies only； in case
Miranda asks you to go somewhere with her at the last minute；
or if your hair and makeup person can’t make it。 Oh； that
reminds me； let me show you the hair stuff I packed。”
As Allison demonstrated how to use four different types of
round brushes to blow my hair straight； I tried to make sense
of what she’d just said。 I would have a hair and makeup
person； too？ I hadn’t arranged for anyone to do me when I’d
booked all of Miranda’s people； so who had？ I had to ask。
“The Paris office；” Allison replied with a sigh。 “You’re
representingRunway； you know； and Miranda is very sensitive to
that。 You’ll be attending some of the most glamorous events in
the world alongside Miranda Priestly。 You don’t think you
could achieve the right look on your own； do you？”
“No； of course not。 It’s definitely better that I have
professional help for this。 Thank you。”
Then Allison kept me cornered an additional two hours until
she was satisfied that if any of the fourteen hair and makeup
appointments I had scheduled over the course of the week fell
through； I wouldn’t humiliate our boss by smearing the mascara
across my lips or shaving the sides of my head and spiking the
center into a mohawk。 When we were through； I thought I’d
finally get a moment to race down to the dining room and grab
some calorie…enriched soup； but Allison picked up Emily’s
extension—her old phone line—and dialed Stef in the
accessories department。
“Hi； I’m done with her and she’s here right now。 You want to
e over？”
“Wait！ I need to go get lunch before Miranda es back！”
Allison rolled her eyes just like Emily。 I wondered if it was
something about that particular position that inspired such
expert demonstrations of irritation。 “Fine。 No； no； I was
talking to Andrea；” she said into the phone； raising her
eyebrows at me—surprise； surprise—just like Emily。 “It seems
that she’shungry 。 I know。 Yes； I know。 I told her that； but
she seems intent on 。 。 。eating 。”
I walked out of the office and picked up a large cup of cream
of broccoli with cheddar cheese and returned within three
minutes to find Miranda sitting at her desk； holding the phone
receiver away from her face like it was covered in leeches。
She was due to fly to Milan that very evening but I wasn’t
sure I’d survive to see it happen。
“The phone rings； Andrea； but when I pick it up—because you’re
apparently not interested in doing so—no one’s there。 Can you
explain this phenomenon？” she asked。
Of course I could explain it； just not to her。 On the rare
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