Character: Andrea "Andy" Sachs (Andrea "Andy" Sachs). Page 3

An-Dre-Ah, I'm late for a meeting. Don't get me started. It was an Asian restaurant, and it was in the papers today. That's all. And with these words it snapped its "Motorola-V60". In me cherished the hope that someday the lid will pinch her perfectly manicured toes and perfect red nails and they will be digested in the guts of the phone. So far no luck.
Ahn-dre-ah, I'm already late for the meet. Don't grill me. It was an Asian fusion restaurant and it was in today's paper. That's all - and with that, she snapped her Motorola V60 shut. I hoped, as I usually did when she cut me off midsentence, that one day the Cell Phone would simply clamp down on her perfectly manicured fingers and swallow them whole, taking special time to shred those flawless red nails. No luck yet.

- All this stuff. Most importantly, they will publish it in the February issue and will pay me three thousand bucks. That's pretty cool.
- Congratulations, Andy. It's wonderful. This will be your ads, right?
- Well, Yes. Of course, this is not a "new Yorker", but the beginning is very good. Maybe if I can push another couple of things in different magazines, something happened. On Friday we meet this woman, and she asked me to bring everything I have. And not even asked, do I speak French. And she can't stand Miranda. With this Loretta is possible to deal with.
- Whatever, details, details. The point is, they're publishing it in the February issue and they're paying me three thousand dollars for it. How crazy is that? - Congrats, Andy. Seriously, that's amazing. And now you'll have this as a clip, right? - Yep. Hey, it's not The New Yorker, but it's an OK first step. If I can round up a few more of these, maybe in some different magazines, too, I might be getting somewhere. I have a meeting with the woman on Friday, and she told me to bring anything else I've been working on. And she didn't even ask if I speak French. And she hates Miranda. I can work with this woman.

"Of course, it's Miranda," thought I, coming out of her office and trying to understand why it is necessary to start the execution of orders, no doubt concealing a thousand pitfalls.

The devil! This woman has a talent to ruin my life.

- Andy, do you still not understand that the job is now more to you than just a job - it has absorbed your entire life? he shouted in response, and his face flushed, even the neck and ears. Usually I thought it was very attractive, even sexy, but today, I just wanted to sleep.

The stairs were in the same place where I saw her in flashback, but twilight looked different. I'm used to dull and short winter days, and it was strange, that already half past six and the sky just beginning to darken. This evening, the stairs looked like a king - rarely see this. She was more beautiful stairs in the Plaza of Spain in Rome, prettier one that leads to the entrance of the library at Columbia University, even more beautiful spirit of a spectacular ascent to the Capitol. Only after climbing to the tenth rung of this white splendor, I realized how much grief can deliver such masterpieces. In whose fevered imagination could have come up with the idea to make a woman in a narrow dress and shoes on high heels climbing up the Golgotha? Since I could not how to hate the architect or even those who entrusted him with this work, I shifted the whole burden of responsibility on Miranda, which has recently acted as an explicit or implicit the culprit of all my misery.
The stairs stood where I remembered them but looked different in the haze of dusk. Still accustomed to the short, miserable days of winter, I thought it seemed strange that the sky was just darkening and it was already six-thirty. That night the stairs looked positively regal. They were prettier than the Spanish Steps or the ones outside the library at Columbia, or even the awe-inspiring spread at the Capitol building in D.C. It wasn't until I'd made it to about the tenth one of those white beauties that I began to loathe them. What cruel, cruel sadist would make a woman in a skintight, floor-length gown and spiked heels climb such a hill of hell? Since I couldn't very well hate the architect or even the museum official who'd commissioned him, I was forced to hate Miranda, who could usually be blamed for directly or indirectly causing all the misery and bad will in my life.

Well, there is no better way to return from the tales to harsh reality than amoebic dysentery. The week I spent in the filthy Indian hotel, begging Alex not to leave me to die in this God-forsaken place. Even after four days we landed in Newark, and my frightened mother put me in the back seat of the car and wailed on me the entire way. The dream of a Jewish mother: she has a legitimate opportunity to invite the house of one doctor after another until she is not convinced that the last filthy vermin left alone her little girl.
Well, nothing ends the romance more swiftly than amoebic dysentery. I lasted a week in a filthy Indian hostel, begging Alex not to leave me for dead in that hellish place. Four days later we landed in Newark and my worried mother tucked me into the backseat of her car and clucked the entire way home. In a way it was a Jewish mother's dream, a real reason to visit doctor after doctor after doctor, making absolutely sure that every miserable parasite had abandoned her little girl.

- And do you read Runway, Ahn-Dre-Ah? - she said, also leaning forward and looking at me even more carefully than before. It was so sudden, so unexpected that I was caught off guard. I lied, not twisted, not even trying to defend:
- No. Followed by ten seconds of icy silence, after which she called Emily and told her to take me. I realized that I got the job.
- And do you read Runway, Ahn-dre-ah? - she interrupted, leaning over the desk and peering at me even more intently than before. It had come so quickly, so unexpectedly, that for the first time that day I was caught off-guard. I didn't lie, and I didn't elaborate or even attempt to explain.
- No. After perhaps ten seconds of stony silence, she beckoned for Emily to escort me out. I knew I had the job.

Isaac it's funny hakol - usually sneeze children, and Jill blossomed like he's with expression read a couple of Shakespeare's sonnets.
Isaac sneezed a very cute baby sneeze in response, and Jill looked as though he d just risen up from her arms a full-grown man and recited a few Shakespearean sonnets.

What a bitch! The first time she could call me Emily by mistake, but the second time she did it on purpose.

I felt that I was chattering like crazy, any therapist would easily have determined that my tongue-in-cheek revival in fact concealed the lack of emotions.

You sold your soul to the devil when she first put her shoes on.

His elation made me smile, and I suddenly felt that I miss Alex. Miss the person with whom you are seen frequently and regularly, but do not enter into an intimate relationship.

Lily took Alex's car and went to IKEA - a Mecca for yesterday's students desire the furniture.