Priscilla Tonman IX

The Devil Wears Prada

The evening was starting to get a little chilly, and I wrapped my coat a little tighter around my waist. We walked by a couple holding hands, both wearing Princeton apparel, and both looking tired, but content. I looked over to Eric, and he was not paying attention to anything else but the ground. He was walking at a very un-Eric like speed too; I had to really walk briskly to catch up with him. What was with all this rush? I doubted anyone would be in the office now anyway.

I felt my phone buzz, and I took it out of my coat and answered. “Hey, it’s me,” Tommy’s voice resonated in my ear. “Where are you?”

“I am uh…with Eric right now.” I replied, for a lack of a better answer. It was too long of a story to even begin to explain. Eric looked up, with a look of sheer panic in his eyes. He started shaking his head, signaling to me to tell Tommy he was not there. Uhm, too late?

“What? You’re at his place?” Tommy uttered, sounding half way between disgusted and shock. “I thought we were having dinner at mine!”

Crap. I had completely forgotten about dinner tonight. Tommy even suggested he cook, just to prove to me Tiger Inn was still a better eating club than Cottage. He meant it jokingly of course, and I was so happy Tommy was back to his old self again. He had just started to forgive me (or at least forget) and now I had gone and blown it.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry Tommy. I was doing homework, and I realized I uh, had to uh, help Eric with something, and I completely spaced. This is my fault, I’m so sorry. Can I join you later? I’ll be done soon.” I apologized. I bit my lip; I felt so wrapped up in guilt.

Silence for two seconds. “Well…how long are you going to be?” Tommy asked carefully.

“I think less than half an hour; listen I’ll make it up to you. I’ll bring some Moscato alright?” I had some Moscato white wine in my mini-fridge left, and I knew Tommy always appreciated a drink. I owed him that much at least. While I was crossing my fingers, Tommy sighed and said, “Oh, Priscilla. You can't bribe me with alcohol every time you know. As much as I love Mr. Moscato or Senor Patron, I’d rather hang out with you more.”

“I know, and you will! I’ll be there at 7. Promise. With Mr. Moscato.” I breathed a silent sigh of relief. “See you soon!” I squealed, my voice going a little too high from the anxiety

“Alright, bye.” Tommy hung up.

People always told me that women were multi-taskers, and that men were unable to do two different things at once. Well, clearly, I would be a better man, because while I was on the phone, I had not been paying attention to Eric at all. Now that I looked back at him, he was looking even worse than before. He kept checking his steel Prada watch. His eyes were now positively sad, and I thought I saw a bead of sweat on his temple.

“Hey, are you okay? What’s wrong with you?” I asked him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s just get this over and done with.” he replied curtly. Ooook, Mr. PMS. In case you didn’t notice, I’m postponing dinner because of your sorry ass.

We walked in silence for the next two minutes, and I took the opportunity to check my email on my iPhone. There were a few university spams about cheap textbooks (an oxymoron) and the International Students’ Association was offering tickets to the latest Harry Potter movie. Woah, I’d better hope on that – I love Harry Potter. Their world was way more interesting that ours would ever be.

We arrived at the brown, colonial looking building. The light was dimmed down by now, and there was no one in sight. I pulled the heavy brown door open, and Eric followed me inside. I took a left and the stairs up, walking to the office when I worked at part time, sorting out applications from over-achieving, over-eager and over-whelmed high school students as well as applications from the much calmer and yet more accomplished graduate students. It wasn’t the most exciting job you could ask for, but $10.50 an hour was not too shabby, and reading some of the applicants’ resumes and cover letters was sometimes a hoot, and sometimes just plain dumb. Whoever thought “Butterfly watching club founder” was a good idea is just not going to get that internship.

I took out my keys, and Eric began breathing down my neck as I tried to open the door. Literally. Because he was about 6’ 5”, I could actually feel his breath tickling my hair. Not impressed with his impatience.

“Patience is a virtue, Eric, which you do not have,” I grumbled. He stepped back and sighed, “I’m sorry, I’m just....” He stopped talking when we both heard the click in the door knob. I turned the worn, once-gold door knob and we stepped into the silent hall way. There was only one line of lights still turned on. We looked around for any sign of people, but it appeared we were the only ones.

Click, click, click. I could hear my one year old, pink BCBGeneration Evie Pumps clicking on the ancient but well maintained floors. Kudos to the Princeton maintenance crew – I have to admit, we never saw more than one person wiping floors or windows, and yet the classrooms and hallways were always very clean. I cringed at the sound I was making, and tried to walk on tip toes, but for any lady (or gentleman, I guess) who has tried to walk on tip toes in 4 inch heels know it’s bound to be an epic fail. So I stopped, and took off my heels.

Eric, meanwhile, did not notice at all, and just strode right to the Admissions Office. He was absolutely a man on a mission. I noticed his shoes didn’t make a sound at all. Jealous. I jogged barefoot to catch up to him, and pulled out my keys again. I opened the door, which creaked a little creepily (funny how this never happened in the daytime, but always seems to convenient happen when no one was around). Eric gently pushed past me and started looking around on the tables. He was pawing everything on Assistant Dean’s desk, moving around papers and envelopes. I could feel my eyes widen because honestly, I was surprised Eric had talked me into letting him essentially snoop around the Assistant Dean’s desk. What have I done?

I turned around and walked to the other end of the room, because I really could not stand looking at Eric while he was acting less George Clooney in Ocean’s Eleven (which made stealing stuff look super cool) and more like Hugh Laurie in House looking for his vicodin (not so cool). I suppose I should help him, and waste less time so that we could get out of here as soon as possible. I was so not cut out to be a criminal, I could feel my hands shaking a little bit as I began thumbing through a few manila envelopes on the Assistant Dean’s corner table. The table definitely was not from IKEA, and from the looks of it, looked older than me.

I’ve worked for the Assistant Dean for a while now, and though he was a polished man, his office told a different story. This was ridiculous, I thought, I’ll offer to clean up for him next week. The envelopes were all a bunch of Princeton applications from North East region of the US. There were at least 40 here. I was flipping them when I did a double take on one of the names. There was an Alan Williams, age 17, from Burlington, Vermont. I know Williams is a not that rare a name, but I remembered Eric saying how much he loved his hometown in Vermont. I glanced at Eric, and he was still sporting that panicked look on his face. I took out the documents from the envelope as stealthily as I could, and noted the order it came in so I wouldn’t mess up where the file was from. Alan Williams, age 17, quite well accomplished. He was a hockey player, and did well in his grades. I flipped the page and, lo and behold, I saw that he had listed an Eric Williams as his brother. Oh my, this was Eric’s little brother. I flipped to the back when I saw some scribbling on a back page. This was a comments page that the Admissions officers liked to write on for themselves as well as their colleagues when deciding on an application. I couldn’t pry my eyes away, I was so curious. In summary, Alan Williams was an average Princeton application, with nothing great to offer, but his brother being here made him sort of a legacy, which gave him points. The notes indicated that Alan Williams did not seem that interested in Princeton, and was vague in his essay. Oh dear, that’s when I saw it. He had been waitlisted.

I gasped a little, and Eric looked up. He came over and saw that I had an application in my hands. His eyebrows shot up. “Whose is that?” he demanded. I looked at him, my jaw dropped (okay, no one’s jaw actually fell to the ground like they always claim in books, but it sure felt like it was about to) but no words came out. He came over and tried to grab the application but I managed to keep most of it with me. He did manage to snatch the envelop from my hands, and he saw his brother’s name. His eyes widened and said, “What does it say?” Oh no, he did not just ask me that. “Give it to me, Pris.”

I shook my head and whispered angrily, “No. You can’t see this.” I hold the application closer to my body. “Just grab your transcripts and let’s go.” He just stood there, with nothing in his hands, looking intently at the documents I was holding. Then it hit me. Like  sudden storm that always happen just as you step out of the house. He didn’t “leave” his application or transcripts here; he wanted to check his brother’s application. How could I not have suspected this? The situation was weird from the start.

He walked to me, with a very angry look on his once handsome face. I had never seen him even remotely angry before; usually he was just annoyed. I backed up and felt the old table against my legs. I was trapped with nowhere to go. “Give it to me now, Priscilla, or I’ll…” he growled and paused.

“Or what? Eric? You don’t scare me,” I stood firmly. All lies, of course. how could I not be scared of this huge male who looked like he could club me and knock me out with one hit. “You wouldn’t dare hurt me!” I challenged.

He looked even scarier for a split second, then his eyes softened and his mouth drooped. He unclenched his fists (which I hadn’t even realized were in ‘fight’ position) and said, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I…” he looked up at me with such a remorseful expression. “I just needed to know if Alan…”

“You used me to check if your brother had gotten into Princeton?” I spitted out. It was so hard not to smack him over the head and yell at him out right. Who the hell does this guy think he is? “I can’t believe you lied to me, Eric. But most of all, I can’t believe you are so willing to jeopardize the integrity of this school!” I all but shrieked that last line. This was so insulting. Princeton prided itself on having honorable (albeit sometimes elitist) beliefs, especially regarding academia; but what pissed me off even more was that Eric preached to us at Cottage all the time about family, tradition and honor. I had thought he was the perfect, charming leader that every organization needed, but here in front of me, he was so pathetic. I couldn’t even bring it out in me to explain my anger to him - he was so not worth it.

He stayed silent, and reached out a hand to try and express his sincerity I suppose, but I side stepped him, and said, “Don’t touch me, Eric. I don’t want to talk to you right now, just get out of my sight please.” I looked down at my feet.

“I’m sorry, Priscilla.” Eric whispered, and my heart felt like it was breaking. He actually sounded really sorry. What a good actor – I’d give him an Oscar for World’s Best Liar. He paused, reluctant to leave me alone, but decided it was probably better to not stay any longer. He could probably feel the quiet tension was about to break into a hysterical fit any second. He left without another word, and the door creaked behind him. I was left standing in the Assistant Dean’s office by myself, holding Alan William’s application. I could feel my energy slipping away, and my stomach cramped up in fear and exhaustion.

Whoever said curiosity killed the cat knew what they were talking about. They didn’t mention that the death could be a slow and painful one.