Hudičevka v Pradi

- 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.

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.

- Miranda, I'm going to need to put you on hold while I call him. Can I put you on hold?
I didn't wait for a response, which I knew would drive her crazy, and threw the call on hold. I dialed Paris again. The good news was the driver picked up on the first ring of the first number I tried. The bad news was he didn't speak English. Although I'd never been self-destructive before, I couldn't help but smash my forehead firmly into the Formica. Three times of this, and Emily had picked up the line at her desk.

Chalk up my total as an even four grand for today’s ruined merchandise—a new personal best. Maybe she’d die before I got back , I thought, deciding that now was the time to look on the bright side. Maybe, just maybe, she’d keel over from something rare and exotic and we’d all be released from her wellspring of misery. I relished a last drag before stamping out the cigarette and told myself to be rational. You don’t want her to die, I thought, stretching out in the backseat. Because if she does, you lose all hope of killing her yourself. And that would be a shame.