The Devil Wears Prada Read Online Free

The Buzz, andCoquette . The
doors opened silently, reverently, to stark white reception areas. Chic
furniture with clean, simple lines dared people to sit, ready to scream out in
agony if anyone—horror!—spilled. The magazines’ names rested
in bold black and identifiable, individual typeface along the walls that
flanked the lobby. Thick, opaque glass doors protected the titles.
They’re names the average American recognizes but never imagines to be
turning and churning and spinning under one very high city roof.
     
     While
I’d admittedly never held a job more impressive than frozen yogurt
scooper, I’d heard enough stories from my newly minted professional
friends to know that corporate life just didn’t look like this. Not even
close. Absent were the nauseating fluorescent lights, the never-shows-dirt
carpeting. Where dowdy secretaries should have been ensconced, polished young
girls with prominent cheekbones and power suits presided. Office supplies
didn’t exist! Those basic necessities like organizers, garbage cans, and
books were simply not present. I watched as six floors disappeared in swirls of
white perfection before I felt the venom and heard the voice.
     
     “She.
Is. Such. A. Bitch! Icannot deal with her anymore. Who does that? I mean,
really—WHO DOES THAT?” hissed a twenty-something girl in a
snakeskin skirt and a very mini tank top, looking more suited for a late night
at Bungalow 8 than a day at the office.
     
     “I
know. Iknooooooow. Like, what do you think I’ve had to put up with for
the past six months? Total bitch. And terrible taste, too,” agreed her friend,
with an emphatic shake of her adorable bob.
     
     Mercifully,
I arrived at my floor and the elevator slid open.Interesting, I thought. If
you’re comparing this potential work environment to an average day in the
life of a cliquey junior high girl, it might even be better. Stimulating? Well,
maybe not. Kind, sweet, nurturing? No, not exactly. The kind of place that just
makes you want to smile and do a great job? No, OK? No! But if you’re
looking for fast, thin, sophisticated, impossibly hip, and heart-wrenchingly
stylish, Elias-Clark is mecca.
     
     The
gorgeous jewelry and impeccable makeup of the human resources receptionist did
nothing to allay my overwhelming feelings of inadequacy. She told me to sit and
“feel free to look over some of our titles.” Instead, I tried
frantically to memorize the names of all the editors in chief of the
company’s titles—as if they were going to actually quiz me on them.
Ha! I already knew Stephen Alexander, of course, forReaction magazine, and it
wasn’t too hard to rememberThe Buzz ‘s Tanner Michel. Those were
really the only interesting things they published anyway, I figured. I’d
do fine.
     
     A short,
svelte woman introduced herself as Sharon. “So, dear, you’re
looking to break into magazines, are you?” she asked as she led me past a
string of long-legged model look-alikes to her stark, cold office.
“It’s a tough thing to do right out of college, you know. Lots and
lots of competition out there for very few jobs. And the few jobs that are
available, well! They’re not exactly high-paying, if you know what I
mean.”
     
     I looked
down at my cheap, mismatched suit and very wrong shoes and wondered why
I’d even bothered. Already deep in thought over how I was going to crawl
back to that sofa bed with enough Cheez-Its and cigarettes to last a fortnight,
I barely noticed when she almost whispered, “But I have to say,
there’s an amazing opportunity open right now, and it’s going to go
fast!”
     
     Hmm. My
antennae perked up as I tried to force her to make eye contact with me.
Opportunity? Go fast? My mind was racing. She wanted to help me? She liked me?
Why, I hadn’t even opened my mouth yet—how could shelike me? And
why exactly was she starting to sound like a car salesman?
     
     “Dear,
can you tell me the name of the editor in chief