Revenge Wears Prada: The Devil Returns

by Lauren Weisberger

  If only you knew the whole story, Andy thought, you’d need a shipping container of Botox to eliminate that frown.

  Confident Max would know to lie and make up some story about work or a party a hundred years ago, Andy almost fainted when instead he said, “We do. Alex here used to date my wife.”

  Sophie’s mouth dropped open and Andy knew exactly what she was thinking and how she felt. No doubt she was going through the laundry list of explicit details she’d revealed at their last group meeting, not one of which was appropriate for someone who actually knew the boyfriend on whom she was cheating. Andy watched as shock turned to panic.

  Sophie’s head swiveled between Alex and Andy. “You two used to date?”

  Andy and Alex merely nodded, but Max was clearly enjoying himself.

  He laughed and held Clementine above his head, bringing her down to kiss her nose and lifting her up again while she giggled. “Well, date is probably not the right word. They were together for six years. Straight through college—can you believe it? Lucky for me, they didn’t get married . . .”

  “You’re Andy? Andy-Andy? Andy from Brown? Andy of girlfriends past? Oh my god . . .” Sophie clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “I go by Andrea these days with new friends since it sounds a little more professional.” Andy allowed her voice to trail off. What else was there to say? She didn’t know whether to be concerned or delighted that Alex had told Sophie so much about her. What had he said? And in how much detail? She thought back to their breakup, which had been entirely Alex’s decision; to his announcement that he was moving to Mississippi without her; to how he was concerned that she would always prioritize work over him; to the fights they’d begun having almost the instant she started working at Runway. The bickering, the hurt feelings, the resentment, the neglect, the resulting lack of sex and affection. Had he told her all that?

  “I guess you guys didn’t put it together that you had a, um . . . that you knew someone in common, huh?” Alex said, looking every bit as uncomfortable as Andy felt.

  “No, we most certainly didn’t,” Sophie said, all former enthusiasm completely vanished.

  “How could we have?” Andy said as lightly as she could manage. “I only know him as Alex, and although I knew he had a girlfriend, I didn’t know her name.”

  “And I didn’t know that the famous Andy had a baby,” Sophie shot back, although Andy hadn’t intended her comment as a dig. Sophie turned to Alex and glared at him. “You never told me Andy so much as got married, never mind had a child.”

  “Speaking of said baby”—Alex tugged at his collar, which looked not the least bit constricting, and motioned toward Clementine—“I haven’t had a chance to meet your daughter yet.”

  Max flipped Clem around in his arms so she was facing out, and as though on cue, she flashed a wide, toothless smile. “This is Clementine Rose Harrison. Clem, please meet our friends Sophie and . . . Xander.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Alex breathed, his sincerity making an impossible situation all the more uncomfortable.

  “She is a cutie,” Sophie said, looking around, clearly trying to make an escape. “I haven’t said hello yet to my brother or Lola. Will you all excuse me?”

  She was gone before any of them could respond.

  “Well, that was awkward,” Max said, the mischief flashing in his eyes. “I hope I didn’t say anything wrong.”

  “Of course not,” Andy said, knowing exactly what he was doing.

  “I think she was just surprised to make the connection,” Alex offered lamely.

  Anita and her rocker husband resumed their baby concert on the carpet, and a maid announced that brunch was being served in the dining room.

  “I’ll let you two catch up,” Max said, hoisting Clem on his shoulder. “This one wants to get back to the music, don’t you, my love?”

  There was a moment of silence after Max left. Alex stared at his feet; Andy nervously twisted her hair. The only words going through her head were tell him, tell him, tell him.

  “She’s beautiful, Andy.”

  For a horrible split second, Andy thought he was talking about Sophie. “Oh, Clem? Thanks. Yeah, we’ll keep her.”

  Alex laughed and Andy couldn’t help but smile back at him. His laugh was so natural, so unself-conscious.

  “Weird that you and Soph know each other, huh? She would always tell me about this play group that she took Lola to—I guess it wasn’t exactly what she expected—but I never made the connection.”

  “Me neither. How could we? There are thousands of new mommies in Manhattan. No reason to think we’d both be in the same group. Especially since Sophie isn’t even a mom . . .” She realized that last part sounded aggressive or accusatory or probing, or possibly all three.

  “Don’t tell her that,” Alex laughed. “She definitely forgets she’s only Lola’s aunt. And she talks about babies constantly . . . if she has her way, she’ll be a mom soon.”

  It was Andy’s turn to stare at the floor. She suddenly, desperately, needed to be anywhere but right there.

  “I’m sorry,” Alex said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Was that weird? Too much information? This is all just so new to me . . .”

  Andy waved him off. “We’re grown-ups now. We haven’t been involved in years. It’s natural we’ve both moved on.”

  The music stopped suddenly and Andy’s words rang out loudly, but only Sophie and Max turned to look.

  “I think I’m going to get some food,” Andy said.

  “Sounds good. I’m going to say good-bye. I just stopped by to meet everyone, but I have, uh, stuff to do.”

  They both nodded, accepting his excuse, and kissed primly on the cheek. Andy managed to keep her mouth shut: if they could barely discuss the fact that she had a daughter without extreme discomfort, how on earth could she cavalierly announce that his girlfriend was cheating on him with her photography student?

  Andy beelined for the dining room and was momentarily distracted by the awesome display in front of her. “Brunch” was no less elaborate than an after-wedding party at a Ritz-Carlton, right down to the frog-shaped ice sculpture. Silver platters on gas burners offered heaping piles of scrambled eggs, bacon, home fries, pancakes, and waffles. There were a half dozen types of cereal, complete with glass pitchers of skim, soy, and whole milk, and a fruit bar with slices of watermelon, bunches of grapes, bananas, kiwis, pineapples, grapefruit halves, cherries, cut melon, and berries. Set off to the side was a baby buffet, complete with miniature plates of fruit cut into tiny pieces, containers of YoBaby yogurt in every flavor with coordinating baby spoons, packets of Baby Mum-Mums, and bowl upon bowl of organic Puffs. To the right was a separate table with a bartender mixing mimosas, Bloody Marys, and Bellinis with fresh peach nectar. A woman in uniform handed her a plate and a bundle of silverware; her male counterpart asked if she’d like the chef to make her an omelet or a frittata. Only then did Andy realize the casual meet-the-husbands brunch was a catered affair.

  “Wow, this is pretty fantastic,” Max said, sidling up next to her and surveying the food. “We could probably get used to living like this, don’t you think?”

  Andy chose to ignore the second part of his comment. “Worth missing the beginning of the Jets game for?” Andy asked.

  “Almost.”

  There was no more mention of Alex or Sophie. Andy wasn’t sure if Max didn’t want to talk about it or truly didn’t care, but she wasn’t going to bring it up. They took turns holding Clementine and eating, shamelessly stuffing themselves while making halfhearted attempts at conversation with the other parents. When Max gave her the “I’m ready” look thirty minutes later, Andy didn’t argue.

  At their apartment, Max kindly offered to put Clementine down for her second nap and stay home to watch the game if Andy wanted to run out for the manicure she’d been trying to fit in for a week. No matter that she’d actually gotten it the day before (men never notice these things); yes, she wanted to head out.
In less than ten minutes, she was installed at a table at Café Grumpy and on the phone with Lily.

  “It was wrong not to tell him, wasn’t it? I should have said something.”

  “Of course you shouldn’t have said something!” Lily’s voice had risen multiple octaves. “Why would you even think that?”

  “I’ve known Alex since college. He was my first love. I’ll probably always love him. I’ve seen Sophie once a week for a few months now. I don’t think she’s a terrible person, believe it or not, but I certainly don’t feel any loyalty to her.”

  “All of that is beside the point. It’s just none of your business.”

  “What do you mean, it’s none of my business?”

  Baby Skye howled in the background. Lily asked her to hold on, muted the phone, and came back a minute later.

  “Just that whatever is or isn’t going on with Alex and his girlfriend doesn’t concern you. You’re a married woman with your own child, and who’s cheating on whom is not your problem.”

  Andy sighed. “Would you want to know if Bodhi was having an affair? You’re my friend, and I wouldn’t hesitate to tell you.”

  “Yes, but the difference is I’m your friend. Alex is not your friend. He’s your ex. And what does or doesn’t go on in his bedroom is none of your business.”

  “You’re a laugh riot, you know that, Lil?”

  “Sorry. I’m just telling you the truth.”

  Andy asked after Bodhi, Bear, and Skye and hung up as quickly as possible. Emily didn’t answer her cell phone, so Andy called Miles’s number. Andy knew he’d accompanied Emily to Chicago to meet with a potential advertiser and would be continuing on to L.A. after Emily flew home.

  Miles picked up on the first ring.

  “Hey, Miles. Sorry to bother you, but I can’t find Emily. Do you know where she is?”

  “She’s right here next to me. She said she’s screening you. We’re picking up the rental car now.”

  “Was the flight that bad?”

  “I’m just telling you what she said.”

  “Well, tell her Alex’s girlfriend is actually in my mommies group and she’s sleeping with her student who’s barely out of college.”

  Andy listened as Miles relayed the message. As she knew she would, Emily took the phone. Their tensions over Elias-Clark aside, Emily would eat this gossip right up.

  “Explain, please. You never mentioned Alex has a kid. Which, considering you’re still clearly obsessed with him, is surprising information to omit.”

  Andy didn’t know whether to be more incensed at Emily’s accusation or the fact that Miles was sitting there listening to it. “Can Miles hear you?”

  “No, I moved. Now start talking.”

  “He doesn’t have a kid. His girlfriend’s name is Sophie and, incidentally, she’s gorgeous. It’s her brother and his wife’s baby, the cutest little girl named Lola. Anyway, since the sister-in-law works these hideous hours, Sophie brings Lola to the new mommies group. I think she thought it was going to be more of a play group and less of a new mothers’ support group, but she still—”

  “I get it. And you know she’s fucking her student how?”

  “She told me. Hell, she told all of us. Technically, she claims they’re not actually sleeping together, but there has definitely been inappropriate—”

  “So you’re telling me you know this for a fact, directly from her mouth, and you didn’t say a word to him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, why not?”

  “What do you mean, why not?”

  “Don’t you think it’s relevant information for someone to have?”

  “Yes. I just wasn’t sure it was any of my business.”

  Emily yelped. “Not any of your business? Oh for Christ’s sake, Andy, stop being such a good girl and pick up the phone. He’ll thank you forever, I promise.”

  “I don’t know. Do you really think—”

  “Yes. I do. I’m hanging up now because I’ve got to drive two hours after my third flight in a week, and I’m ready to kill someone.”

  “Keep me in the loop,” Andy said, but Emily had already hung up.

  Andy asked for a glass of ice water and stared into space. Should she call and tell him? What, exactly, would that look like? He’d be shocked, hurt, humiliated. Why should she be the one to deliver such devastating news? Or even worse, what if it wasn’t actually news to him? Who was to say he didn’t know already, hadn’t stumbled upon the sordid affair himself or been on the receiving end of a tearful confession from Sophie? What if, even worse, they had some sort of open relationship agreement, and although Sophie felt guilty acting on it, she wasn’t technically doing anything wrong? Then she’d surely be the meddling, creepily overinvolved ex-girlfriend, and any new strides she and Alex had made at getting reacquainted and possibly even learning to be friends again would be solidly, forever over.

  It felt absolutely terrible and wrong on every level, but she would keep her mouth shut. She was getting good at that.

  chapter 21

  in your own best interest

  Max set a cup of coffee in front of Andy and returned to the pod machine to make one for himself.

  Andy pushed it away and groaned.

  “Do you want some tea instead?”

  “No, nothing. My throat feels like razor blades.”

  “I thought this was supposed to be a twenty-four-hour thing? Isn’t that what the doctor said?”

  Andy nodded. “Yep. But Clem’s lasted three full days and I’m going on my fourth. So I’m not sure I believe him.”

  Max kissed the top of her head the way he would a puppy and clucked sympathetically. “Poor baby, you’re burning up. Are you due for Tylenol?”

  Andy wiped a bead of sweat from her upper lip. “Not for another hour,” she croaked. “I should change the outgoing messages on our home phone and my cell. The voice is sexy, no?”

  “You sound like you have the plague,” he said as he shoved some papers into his briefcase. “Is there anything else I can do before I leave?”

  Andy tightened her bathrobe around her and then immediately loosened it again. “I don’t think so. Isla should be here soon.” She swallowed hard and tried not to wince in pain. “I really should be trying to get to the office today. Emily called three times yesterday, always under the guise of asking how I’m doing, but I know she just wants to talk about Elias-Clark. We’re having lunch tomorrow to make a decision, once and for all.”

  In the four days since the Miranda dinner, Emily and Andy had both seemed to sense they were never going to see eye to eye on the idea of an Elias-Clark purchase. They were playing chicken now, each waiting for the other to blink . . .

  And Andy knew which side her husband was on.

  Max stopped what he was doing and turned to her. “Well, you’re certainly not in any shape to go to the office, but I can understand why she wants to talk about it . . .”

  Something in his voice made Andy look up. He’d been subtly asking her about it for weeks, expressing more interest than he ever did in her work, and recently it had become not so subtle, with Max constantly inquiring and, since the Miranda dinner, implying that Andy was being an idiot. He never said that, of course, but his favorite word recently was shortsighted.

  Andy remained quiet. She wanted to ask him how much of his support for selling had to do with Harrison Media, but she knew it wouldn’t be a productive conversation.

  “It’s quite an honor, an offer like that. Not to mention a damn fair price, too.”

  “So you’ve said.” Like a thousand times already.

  “I just think it’s the opportunity of a lifetime,” Max said. He didn’t take his eyes off Andy.

  She unwrapped a Ricola and popped it in her mouth. “Hmm, I can’t imagine where I’ve heard that before.”

  Her tone must have made it clear that the conversation was over because Max kissed Clementine, told Andy he loved her, and left. Another hot flash came over her, and not
wanting to leave the baby alone in the high chair but feeling too lightheaded to move her, Andy slumped on the floor next to her daughter. Andy almost hugged Isla when she arrived a few minutes later and she could finally retreat back to her bedroom, put on clean pajamas, and settle in for a feverish but deep, dreamless sleep. She awoke to the sound of Stanley barking at the front door.

  Andy stumbled back to the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes. The nap had helped; she felt better. “Who was it?” she asked Isla, who was warming a bottle.

  “A messenger, I guess. Here, he left this.” Isla handed her a manila envelope that read Photographs: Do Not Bend! along both sides.

  “Oh, yes. I forgot these were going to be ready today.” She pulled out a sheaf of eight-by-ten glossies from Olive’s wedding. The note from Daniel read, Hope you like them as much as we do. Planned to send to E but she’s in Chicago all day. Can you please pass along to her? Let me know your thoughts.

  Andy settled at the kitchen table with a cup of chamomile and spread the dozen photos out in front of her. Her smile grew as she looked from image to image: they were, in a word, spectacular.

  She texted Emily. Just got Olive pics. They’re fantastic. Will be a huge hit. Love.

  The reply came back instantly. Fab! w/Rolex people now. Messenger them to my apt? Need for breakfast meeting tom. Xo

  Andy texted back, sure thing, and opened her laptop to begin writing up the Olive nuptials. It was an easier task when she had actually attended the wedding, but Emily’s notes were fairly comprehensive. Andy had e-mailed her a three-page list of things to make note of—or, even better, if she got the chance, ask someone—and Emily had done a more than decent job of filling in the blanks.

  Isla brought Clem over for a kiss before they headed to Gymboree and a playdate, and after that the apartment was blessedly quiet—perfect for a solid three-hour work session, Andy’s first in two days of being sick. By the time Isla and the baby returned, Andy felt nearly cured and, even better, had written three-quarters of the article. She pulled Clem from her stroller and covered her with kisses.

  “I’m feeling much better,” she told Isla, who looked at her dubiously.