itinerary Emily had so painstakingly constructed showed she would
now be in the car on her way to the Ritz。
“Miranda Pri—”
“Emily！” she practically shrieked。 I wisely decided now wasn’t the
time to correct her。 “Emily！ The driver did not give me my usual
phone； and as a result I don’t have anyone’s phone number。 This is
unacceptable。 Entirely unacceptable。 How am I supposed to conduct
Business with no phone numbers？ Connect me immediately to Mr。
Lagerfeld。”
“Yes； Miranda； please hold just a moment。” I jabbed the hold button
and called out to Emily for help； although I would’ve had better
luck simply eating the receiver whole than actually locating Karl
Lagerfeld in less time than it took Miranda to get so annoyed that
she’d smash down the phone and keep calling to ask； “Where the hell
is he？ Why can’t you find him？ Do you not know how to use a phone？”
“She wants Karl；” I called over to Emily。 The name immediately sent
her flying； racing； tearing through papers all over her desk。
“OK； listen。 We have twenty to thirty seconds。 You take Biarritz and
the driver； I’ll get Paris and the assistant；” she called； her
fingers already flying across the keypad。 I double…clicked on the
thousand…plus name contact list that we shared on our hard drives
and found exactly five numbers I’d have to call： Biarritz main；
Biarritz second main； Biarritz studio； Biarritz pool； and Biarritz
driver。 A quick glance over the other listings for Karl Lagerfeld
indicated that Emily had a grand total of seven； and there were
still more numbers for New York and Milan。 We were dead before we
started。
I’d tried Biarritz main and was in the middle of dialing Biarritz
second main when I saw that the flashing red light had stopped
blinking。 Emily announced that Miranda had hung up； in case I hadn’t
noticed。 Only ten or fifteen seconds had passed—she was feeling
particularly impatient today。 Naturally； the phone rang again
immediately； and Emily responded to my pleading puppy eyes and
answered it。 She didn’t get halfway through her canned greeting
before she was nodding gravely and trying to reassure Miranda。 I was
still dialing and had—miraculously—made it to Biarritz pool； where I
was currently talking to a woman who didn’t speak a single word； a
single syllable； of English。 Maybe this was the obsession with
speaking French？
“Yes； yes； Miranda。 Andrea and I are calling right now。 It should
only be a few more seconds。 Yes； I understand。 No； I know it’s
frustrating。 If you’ll allow me to just put you on hold for ten
seconds or so； I’m sure we’ll have him on the line。 OK？” She punched
“hold” and kept right on jabbing numbers。 I heard her trying in what
sounded like horrifically accented and broken French to talk to
someone who appeared to not know the name Karl Lagerfeld。 We were
dead。 Dead。 I was getting ready to hang up on the crazy French woman
who was shrieking into the receiver when I saw the flashing red
light go out again。 Emily was still frantically dialing。
“She’s gone！” I called with the urgency of an EMT performing
emergency CPR。
“Your turn to get it！” she screamed back； fingers flying； and sure
enough； the phone rang again。
I picked it up and didn’t even attempt to say anything； since I knew
the voice on the other end would speak up immediately。 It did。
“Ahn…dre…ah！ Emily！ Whoever the hell I’m talking to 。 。 。 why is it
that I’m speaking with you and not with Mr。 Lagerfeld？ Why？”
My first instinct was to remain silent； since it didn’t appear that
the verbal barrage was over； but as usual； my instincts were wrong。
“Hell…ooo？Anyone there？ Is the process of connecting one phone call
to another really too difficult forboth my assistants？”
“No； Miranda； of course not。 I’m sorry about this—” My voice was
shaking a little； but I couldn’t get it under control。 “—it’s just
that we can’t seem to find Mr。 Lagerfeld。 We’ve already tried at
least eight—”
“Can’t seem to find him？”she mimicked in a high…pitched voice。 “What
do you mean； you ‘can’t seem to find’ him？”
What part of that simple five…word sentence did she not prehend；
I wondered。 Can’t。 Seem。 To。 Find。 Him。 Seemed rather clear and
precise to me： We can’t fucking find him。 That is why you’re not
talking to him。 Ifyou can find him； thenyou can talk to him。 A
million barbed responses raced around my head； but I could only
sputter like a first…grader who’d been singled out by the teacher
for talking in class。
“Um； well； Miranda； we’ve called all of the numbers we have listed
for him； and he doesn’t appear to be at any of them；” I managed。
“Well of course he’s not！” She was almost screaming now； that
precious； well…guarded cool was precariously close to collapsing。
She took a deep； exaggerated breath and said calmly； “Ahn…dre…ah。
Are you aware that Mr。 Lagerfeld is in Paris this week？” I felt like
we were doing English As a Second Language lessons。
“Of course； Miranda。 Emily has been trying all the numbers in—”
“And are you aware that Mr。 Lagerfeld said he’d be available on his
mobile phone while he was in Paris？” Every muscle in her throat
strained to keep her voice even and calm。
“Well； no； we don’t have a cell number listed in the directory； so
we didn’t know that Mr。 Lagerfeld even had a Cell Phone。 But Emily
is on the phone with his assistant right now； and I’m sure she’ll
have that number in just a minute。” Emily gave me the thumbs…up
right before she scribbled something and exclaimed； “Merci；oh yes；
thank you； I mean；merci ” over and over again。
“Miranda； I have the number right here。 Would you like me to connect
you now？” I could feel my chest puff out with confidence and pride。
A job well done！ A superior performance under the most
pressure…filled conditions。 Never mind that my really cute peasant
blouse that had been plimented by two—not one； but two—fashion
assistants was now sporting sweat stains under the arms。 Who cared？
I was about to get this stark raving mad lunatic of an international
caller off my back； and I was thrilled。
“Ahn…dre…ah？” It sounded like a question； but I was only
concentrating on trying to figure out a pattern for indiscriminate
name mix…ups。 At first I’d thought she did it deliberately in an
attempt to belittle and humiliate us even more； but then I figured
out that she was probably quite satisfied with the levels of
belittlement and humiliation we endured and so she did it only
because she couldn’t be bothered to keep straight details so inane
as her two assistants’ names。 Emily had confirmed this by saying
that she c