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“Yeah； yeah； everything’s fine。 My mom just had an emergency client
meeting tonight。 Andy； I can’t really talk about it now。 I was just
calling before with some good news。 But you didn’t call me back；” he
said flatly。
I wrapped the phone cord； which had begun to slowly unravel； so
tight around my pointer and middle fingers that they began to
pulsate。 “I’m sorry” was all I could manage； because even though I
knew he was right； that I was insensitive not to have called； I was
too worn out to present a huge defense。 “Alex； please。 Please don’t
punish me by not telling me something good。 Do you know how long
it’s been since anyone has called with good news？ Please。 Give me
that at least。” I knew he’d respond to my rational approach； and he
did。
“Look； it’s not that exciting。 I just went ahead and made all the
arrangements for us to go back for our first Homeing together。”
“You did？ Really？ We’re going？” I’d brought it up a couple times
before in what I’d liked to believe had been an offhand and casual
way； but in a decidedly non…Alex fashion he’d been hedging on
mitting to our going together。 It was really early to be planning
any of it； but the hotels and restaurants in Providence were always
full months ahead of time。 I’d dropped it a few weeks earlier；
figuring that we would figure something out； find a place to stay
somewhere。 But somehow； of course； he’d picked up on just how badly
I wanted to go with him； and he’d figured out everything。
“Yeah； it’s done。 We have a rental car—a Jeep； actually—and I
reserved a room at the Biltmore。”
“At the Biltmore？ You’re kidding？ You got a room there？ That’s
amazing。”
“Yeah； well； you’ve always talked about wanting to stay there； so I
figured we should try it。 I even made a reservation for brunch on
Sunday at Al Forno for ten people； so we can each gather up the
troops and have everyone in one place at one time。”
“No way。 You did all of this already？”
“Sure。 I thought you’d be really psyched。 That’s why I was really
looking forward to telling you about it。 But apparently you were too
busy to call back。”
“Alex； I’m thrilled。 I can’t even tell you how excited I am； and I
can’t believe you figured everything out already。 I’m really sorry
about before； but I can’t wait for October。 We’re going to have the
best time； thanks to you。”
We talked for another couple minutes。 By the time I hung up； he
didn’t sound mad anymore； but I could barely move。 The effort to win
him back； to find the right words not only to convince him that I
hadn’t overlooked him but also to reassure him that I was
appropriately grateful and enthusiastic had drained the last
reserves of my energy。 I don’t remember getting into the car or the
ride Home or whether or not I said hello to John Fisher…Galliano in
the lobby of my building。 Besides a bone…deep exhaustion that hurt
so much it almost felt good； the only thing I remember feeling at
all was relief that Lily’s door was shut and no light peeked out
from under it。 I thought about ordering in some food； but the mere
thought of locating a menu and a phone was too overwhelming—another
meal that simply wasn’t happening。
Instead； I sat on the crumbling concrete of my furnitureless balcony
and leisurely inhaled a cigarette。 Lacking the energy to actually
blow the smoke out； I let it seep from my mouth and hang in the
still air around me。 At some point I heard Lily’s door open； her
footsteps shuffling along the hallway； but I quickly turned out my
lights and sat in the darkened silence。 There had just been fifteen
straight hours of talking； and I could talk no more。
13
“Hire her；” Miranda had decreed when she met Annabelle； the twelfth
girl I’d interviewed and one of only two that I’d decided were fit
to even meet Miranda。 Annabelle was a native French speaker （she
actually spoke so little English I had to have the twins translate
for me）； a graduate of the Sorbonne； and the possessor of a long；
hard body； with gorgeous brown hair。 She had style。 She wasn’t
afraid to wear stilettos on the job and didn’t seem to mind
Miranda’s brusque manner。 In fact； she was rather aloof and brusque
herself and never really seemed to make any sort of eye contact。
Always kind of bored； a touch disinterested； and supremely
confident。 I was thrilled when Miranda wanted her； both because it
saved me weeks more of meeting nanny wannabes and because it
indicated—in some teeny； tiny way—that I was starting to get it。
Get what； exactly； I wasn’t sure； but things were going as smoothly
as I could have hoped at this point。 I’d pulled off the clothing
order with only a few noticeable screwups。 She hadn’t exactly been
psyched when I’d shown her everything she’d ordered from Givenchy
and accidentally pronounced it precisely as it appears—give…EN…chee。
After much glaring and a few snide ments； I was informed of the
correct pronunciation； and everything went reasonably well until she
had to be told that the Roberto Cavalli dresses she’d requested
hadn’t been made yet and wouldn’t be ready for another three weeks。
But I’d handled that and had managed to coordinate fittings in the
Closet with her tailor and had assembled nearly everything in the
closet in her Home dressing room； a space roughly the size of a
studio apartment。
The party planning had continued in Miranda’s absence and picked up
again full…force with her return； but there was surprisingly little
panic—it appeared that everything was in order； and that the
uping Friday was set to go off without a hitch。 Chanel had
delivered a one…of…a…kind； floor…length red beaded sheath while
Miranda was in Europe； and I’d immediately sent it to the cleaners
for a once…over。 I’d seen a similar Chanel dress in black in the
pages ofW the month before； and when I pointed it out to Emily；
she’d nodded somberly。
“Forty thousand dollars；” she’d said； moving her head up and down；
up and down。 She double…clicked on a pair of black pants onstyle
； where she’d spent months scouring for ideas for her uping trip
to Europe with Miranda。
“Forty thousand WHAT？”
“Her dress。 The red one from Chanel。 It costs forty thousand dollars
if you were to buy it retail。 Of course； Miranda isn’t paying full
price； but she didn’t get this one for free； either。 Isn’t it wild？”
“Forty thousand DOLLARS？” I’d asked again； still unable to believe
that I’d held a single item worth so much money in my hands just
hours earlier。 I couldn’t help a quick conceptualization of forty
grand： two full years’ college tuition； a down payment on a new
Home； a