Did she tell you I was ten years old； or did you just decide
that for yourself？”
“You’re joking。 Tell me you’re joking。 Please？”
“Nope。 Fun； right？ Since I can’t seem to pin you down any
other way； I thought this might work。 My stepmother and
Miranda used to be friendly when Miranda worked at
FrenchRunway —she’s a photographer and does shoots for them
all the time—so I just had her tell Miranda that her lonely
son wouldn’t mind a little pany in the form of one
attractive assistant。 Worked like a charm。 e on； let’s get
you a drink。” He put his hand on the small of my back and led
me toward a massive oak bar in the living room； which
currently had three uniformed bartenders administering
martinis and glasses of Scotch and elegant flutes of
champagne。
“So； let me just get this straight： I don’t have to babysit
for anyone tonight？ You don’t have a baby brother or anything
like that； do you？” It was inprehensible that I had driven
to a party with Miranda Priestly and had no responsibilities
for the entire night except to hang out with a Hot Smart
Writer。 Maybe they’d invited me because they were planning to
make me dance or sing to entertain the guests； or perhaps they
were really short one cocktail waitress and figured I was the
easiest last…minute fill…in？ Or maybe we were headed to the
coat check； where I would relieve the girl who sat there now；
looking bored and tired？ My mind refused to wrap itself around
Christian’s story。
“Well； I’m not saying you don’t have to babysit at all
tonight； because I plan on needing lots and lots of attention。
But I think it’ll be a better night than you’d anticipated。
Wait right here。” He kissed me on the cheek and disappeared
into the crowd of partygoers； mostly distinguished…looking men
and sort of artsy； fashionable women in their forties and
fifties； what appeared to be a mix of bankers and magazine
people； with a few designers； photographers； and models thrown
in for good measure。 There was a small； elegant stone patio in
the back of the townhouse； all lit by white candles； where a
violinist played softly； and I peeked outside。 Immediately I
recognized Anna Wintour； looking absolutely ravishing in a
cream…colored silk slip dress and beaded Manolo sandals。 She
was talking animatedly to a man I presumed to be her
boyfriend； although her giant Chanel sunglasses prevented me
from being able to tell if she was amused； indifferent； or
sobbing。 The press loved to pare the antics and attitudes
of Anna and Miranda； but I found it impossible to believe that
anyone could be quite as unbearable as my boss。
Behind her stood what I presumed to be a fewVogue editors；
eyeing Anna warily and wearily like our own Clackers eye
Miranda； and next to them was a screeching Donatella Versace。
Her face was so caked with makeup； her clothes were so
phenomenally tight； that she actually looked like a caricature
of herself。 Like the first time I visited Switzerland and
couldn’t help thinking how much it resembled the mock…up town
in EPCOT； Donatella actually looked more like the character
onSaturday Night Live than herself。
I sipped my glass of champagne （and I thought I wouldn’t be
having any！） and made small talk with an Italian guy—one of
the first ugly ones I’d ever met—who spoke in florid prose
about his innate appreciation for the female body； until
Christian reappeared again。
“Hey； e with me for a minute；” he said； once again
navigating me smoothly through the crowd。 He was wearing his
uniform： perfectly faded Diesels； a white T…shirt； a dark
sport coat； and Gucci loafers； and he blended into the fashion
crowd seamlessly。
“Where are we going？” I asked； keeping my eyes peeled for
Miranda； who； no matter what Christian said； was still
probably expecting me to be banished to the corner； faxing or
updating the itinerary。
“First； we’re getting you another drink； and maybe another for
me as well。 Then； I’m going to teach you how to dance。”
“What makes you think I don’t know how to dance？ It just so
happens that I’m a gifted dancer。”
He handed me another glass of champagne that seemed to appear
out of thin air and led me into his parents’ formal living
room； which was done in gorgeous shades of deep maroon。 A
six…piece band was playing hip music； of course； and the
couple dozen people under thirty…five had congregated here。 As
if on cue； the band started playing Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get
It On” and Christian pulled me against him。 He smelled of
masculine； preppy cologne； something old…school like Polo
Sport。 His hips moved naturally to the music； no thinking
involved； we just moved together all over the makeshift dance
floor； and he sang quietly in my ear。 The rest of the room
became fuzzy—I was vaguely aware there were others dancing；
too； and somewhere someone was making a toast to something；
but at that moment the only thing with any definition was
Christian。 Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind； there
was a tiny but insistent reminder that this body against mine
was not Alex’s； but it didn’t matter at all。 Not now； not
tonight。
It was after one when I actually remembered that I was there
with Miranda； it had been hours since I’d last seen her； and I
was certain she’d forgotten all about me and headed back to
the hotel。 But when I finally pulled myself away from the
couch in his father’s study； I saw her happily chatting with
Karl Lagerfeld and Gwyneth Paltrow； all of them apparently
oblivious to the fact that they would all be waking up for the
Christian Dior show in just a few hours。 I was debating
whether or not I should approach her when she spotted me。
“Ahn…dre…ah！ e over here；” she called； her voice sounding
almost merry over the din of the party that had bee
noticeably more festive in the last few hours。 Someone had
dimmed the lights； and it was abundantly clear that the
partyers who remained had been well taken care of by the
smiling bartenders。 The annoying way she pronounced my name
didn’t even bother me in my warm and fuzzy champagne buzz。 And
even though I thought the evening couldn’t get any better； she
was clearly calling me over to introduce me to her celebrity
friends。
“Yes； Miranda？” I cooed in my most ingratiating；
thank…you…for…bringing…me…to…this…fabulous…place tone。 She
didn’t even look in my general direction。
“Get me a Pellegrino and then make sure the driver’s out
front。 I’m ready to leave now。” The two women and one man
standing next to her snickered； and I felt my face turn bright
red。
“Of course。 I’ll be right back。