either of us is still alive。” And I finally；finally； went Home。
10
“Hey； I’m glad I caught you；” I heard Cara say on the other end of
the line。 Why was she out of breath at quarter of eight in the
morning？
“Uh…oh。 You never call this early。 What’s wrong？” In the split
second it took me to say those words； a half…dozen scenarios of what
Miranda could need raced through my mind。
“No； no； it’s nothing like that。 I just wanted to warn you that
B…DAD is on his way in to see you； and he’s particularly chatty this
morning。”
“Oh； well； that’s sure great news。 It’s been； what； nearly a week
since he’s interrogated me about every aspect of my life？ I was
wondering where my biggest fan had gone。” I finished typing my memo
and hit “print。”
“You’re a lucky girl； I have to say。 He’s lost interest in me
entirely；” she pined dramatically。 “He only has eyes for you。 I
heard him say that he was ing over to discuss details of the Met
party with you。”
“Great； that’s just great。 I can’t wait to meet this brother of his。
So far I’ve just spoken to him on the phone； but he sounds like a
total schmuck。 So； you’re sure he’s on his way； or is it possible
there’s a kind spirit up above who just may spare me that particular
misery today？”
“Nope； not today。 He’s definitely on his way。 Miranda has a
podiatrist appointment at eight…thirtyA 。M。； so I don’t think she’ll
be ing with him。”
I checked the appointment book on Emily’s desk quickly and confirmed
her appointments。 A Miranda…free morning was indeed on the schedule。
“Fantastic。 I couldn’t think of anyone dreamier to do a little
early…morning bonding with than B…DAD himself。 Why does he talk so
much？”
“Can’t answer that other than to point out the obvious： he married
her； so he’s clearly not all there。 Call if he says anything
particularly ridiculous。 I have to run。 Caroline just smashed one of
Miranda’s Stila lipsticks into the bathroom mirror for no apparent
reason。”
“Our lives rock； don’t they？ We’re the coolest girls。 Anyway； thanks
for the heads up。 Talk to you later。”
“OK； ’bye。”
I glanced over the memo while I waited for B…DAD’s arrival。 It was a
request to the board of trustees of the Metropolitan Museum of Art
from Miranda。 She was asking permission to throw a dinner party in
one of the galleries in March for her brother…in…law； a man I could
tell she absolutely despised but who was； unfortunately； family。
Jack Tomlinson was B…DAD’s younger and wilder brother； and he’d just
announced he was leaving his wife and three children and marrying
his masseuse。 Although he and B…DAD were both quintessential East
Coast prep school aristocracy； Jack had shed his Harvard persona in
his late twenties and moved to South Carolina； where he’d
immediately made a fortune in real estate。 Judging from everything
Emily had told me； he’d morphed into a first…class Southern boy； a
real straw…chewin’； tobacco…spittin’ hick； which of course appalled
Miranda； the epitome of class and sophistication。 B…DAD had asked
Miranda to organize an engagement party for his baby brother； and
Miranda； blinded by love； had no choice but to oblige。 And if she
had to do something； then she sure as hell was going to do it right。
And right was at the Met。
Dear Honored Members； blah； blah； blah； would like to request
permission to host a fabulous little soiree； blah； blah； blah； will
be hiring only the finest caterers； florists； and band； of course；
blah； blah； blah； would wele your input； blah； blah。 Making sure
one last time that there were no glaring errors； I quickly forged
her name and called for a messenger to e pick it up。
The knock on the office suite door—which I kept closed this early in
the morning since no one was in yet anyway—came almost immediately；
and I was impressed with their turnaround time； but the door swung
open to reveal B…DAD； who was sporting a grin much too enthusiastic
for pre…eightA。M 。
“Andrea；” he sang； immediately walking over to my desk and smiling
so genuinely it made me feel guilty for not liking him。
“Good morning； Mr。 Tomlinson。 What brings you here so early？” I
asked。 “I’m sorry to tell you that Miranda’s not in yet。”
He chuckled； his nose twitching like a rodent’s。 “Yes； yes； she
won’t be in until after lunch； or so I believe。 Andy； it really has
been too long since you and I caught up。 Tell Mr。 T。 now： How is
everything？”
“Here； let me take those；” I said； pulling the monogrammed duffel
full of Miranda’s dirty clothes that she’d given him to give to me。
I also relieved him of the beaded Fendi tote bag that had surfaced
again recently。 It was a one…of…a…kind tote that had been
hand…beaded in an elaborate crystal design just for Miranda from
Silvia Venturini Fendi； as a thank…you for all of her support； and
one of the fashion assistants had put its value at just under ten
grand。 But I noticed today that one of the skinny leather handles
had broken loose yet again； even though the accessories department
had returned it to Fendi for hand…stitching two dozen times already。
It was intended to hold a delicate ladies’ wallet； perhaps
acpanied by a pair of sunglasses or maybe； if absolutely
necessary； a small Cell Phone。 Miranda didn’t really care about
that。 She had currently crammed in an extra…large bottle of Bulgari
perfume； a sandal with a broken heel that I was probably supposed to
get fixed； the blotter…size Hermès daily planner that weighed more
than an entire laptop； an oversize spiked dog collar that I thought
either belonged to Madelaine or was for an uping fashion shoot；
and the Book I had delivered to her the night before。 I would have
hocked a bag worth ten thousand dollars and paid my rent for a year；
but Miranda preferred to use it as a trash receptacle。
“Thank you； Andy。 You really are a big help to everyone。 So Mr。 T。
would sure like to hear more about your life。 What’s going on？”
What’s going on？What’s going on？Hmm； well； let’s see here。 Really
not all that much； I suppose。 I spend most of my time trying to
survive my term of indentured servitude with your sadistic wife。 If
there are ever any free minutes during the workday when she’s not
making some belittling demand； then I’m trying to block out the
brainwash drivel that’s spoon…fed to me by her assistant in chief。
On the increasingly rare occasions that I find myself outside the
confines of this magazine； I’m usually trying to convince myself
that it really is OK to eat more than eight hundred calories a day
and that being a size six does not put me in the plus…size category。
S