Lauren Weisberger 5-Book Collection: The Devil Wears Prada, Revenge Wears Prada, Everyone Worth Know by Lauren Weisberger

Elias-Clark. Where was that building? I turned in my place 180 degrees until I saw a street sign: 60th Street and Lexington. Well, 59th can’t be that far away from 60th, but which way should I walk to make the streets go west? And where was Madison in comparison to Lexington? Nothing looked familiar from my visit to the building the week before, since I’d been dropped off right in front. I strolled for a bit, happy to have left enough time to get as lost as I was, and finally ducked into a deli for a cup of coffee.
    â€˜Hello, sir. I can’t seem to find my way to the Elias-Clark building. Could you please point me in the right direction?’ I asked the nervous-looking man behind the cash register. I tried not to smile sweetly, remembering what everyone had told me about not being in Avon anymore, and how people here don’t exactly respond well to good manners. He scowled at me, and I got nervous it was because he thought me rude. I smiled sweetly.
    â€˜One dollah,’ he said, holding out his hand.
    â€˜You’re charging me for directions?’
    â€˜One dollah, skeem or bleck, you peek.’
    I stared at him for a moment before I realized he knew only enough English to converse about coffee. ‘Oh, skim would be perfect. Thank you so much.’ I handed over a dollar and headed back outside, more lost than ever. I asked people who worked at newsstands, as street sweepers, even a man who was tucked inside one of those movable breakfast carts. Not a single one understood me well enough to so much as point in the direction of 59th and Madison, and I had brief flashbacks to Delhi, depression, dysentery.
No! I will find it.
    A few more minutes of wandering aimlessly around a waking midtown actually landed me at the front door of the Elias-Clark building. The lobby glowed behind the glass doors in the early-morning darkness, and it looked, for those first few moments, like a warm, welcoming place. But when I pushed the revolving door to enter, it fought me. Harder and harder I pushed, until my body weight was thrust forward and my face was nearly pressed against the glass, and only then did it budge. When it did begin to move, it slid slowly at first, prompting me to push ever harder. But as soon as it picked up some momentum, the glass behemoth whipped around, hitting me from behind and forcing me to trip over my feet and shuffle visibly to remain standing. A man behind the security desk laughed.
    â€˜Tricky, eh? Not the first time I seen that happen, and won’t be the last,’ he chortled, fleshy cheeks jiggling. ‘They getcha good here.’
    I looked him over quickly and decided to hate him and knew that he would never like me, regardless of what I said or how I acted. I smiled anyway.
    â€˜I’m Andrea,’ I said, pulling a knit mitten from my hand and reaching over the desk. ‘Today’s my first day of work at
Runway
. I’m Miranda Priestly’s new assistant.’
    â€˜And I’m sorry!’ he roared, throwing his round head back with glee. ‘Just call me “Sorry for You”! Hah! Hah! Hah! Hey, Eduardo, check this out. She’s one of Miranda’s new
slaves
! Where you from, girl, bein’ all friendly and shit? Topeka fuckin’ Kansas? She is gonna eat you alive, hah, hah, hah!’
    But before I could respond, a portly man wearing the same uniform came over and with no subtlety whatsoever looked me up and down. I braced for more mocking and guffaws, but it didn’t come. Instead, he turned a kind face to mine and looked me in the eyes.
    â€˜I’m Eduardo, and this idiot here’s Mickey,’ he said, motioning to the first man, who looked annoyed that Eduardo had acted civilly and ruined all the fun. ‘Don’t make no never mind of him, he’s just kiddin’ with you.’ He spoke with a mixed Spanish and New York accent, as he picked up a sign-in book. ‘You just fill out this here