I'm with Cupid (12 page)

“That
is
impressive,” said Max, suddenly looking hopeful.

“Right? So I called the agent back and he said he'd do his best to determine her interest. Apparently she's in pretty high demand.” Corliss hoped this would placate Max for the time being. And she realized now was absolutely
not
the time to tell him about the Trent and Tanya engagement. The news, coupled with the lack-of-nanny hysteria, might send him kerplunking off the deep end.

“Thank you, Corliss. Keep me posted if she or her agent calls.”

“Will do, Max.” As Corliss turned for the door, her phone rang. She rummaged for it in her bag. The caller ID said MAX'S ASSISTANT #3. She rolled her eyes and answered it. “Yes?” These boneheads of Max's were usually calling with some ridiculous bit of useless information, like, “Max is twelve yards from set, look sharp!” But as she listened she realized
this
time they were calling with some real news. News that seemed heaven-sent.

She turned back to Max to fill him in. “She's here, Max!
That nanny.
Apparently she was on the west side and her agent got through to her so she thought she'd stop by. She's just pulled into the parking lot!”

Max's face opened up like a child's on Christmas morning. “Don't just stand there, Corliss,” said Max, rushing to take her by the arms and shake her. “Get out to that parking lot and book that nanny!”

Corliss arrived, huffing and puffing. At the edge of the lot, was a convertible, fire-engine red Karmann Ghia, circa 1972. Sitting squeezed into the driver's seat was an extremely pretty middle-aged woman with big, puffy blond hair and an even bigger, puffier pair of bazoombas. “Are you Corliss?” the woman shouted in a thick Russian accent. Corliss nodded, beholding the strange and wonderful vision in front of her. “I'm Olga Rachmoninoff! Best nanny outside Minsk.”

Olga vaulted out of the two-seater without opening the door. She was an awesome example of post-forty dexterity. Outfitted in a crisp white Brooks Brothers men's button-down shirt, Capri pants, and espadrilles, Olga strode up to Corliss with a brown leather satchel, took out her résumé, and handed it over with a big, capable smile. “Here is all about me. With the references you can't beat.”

“Thank you, Olga. Wow. You came at just the right time! I was about to give up on the nanny search.”

Olga leaned in to Corliss and whispered confidently, “You never have to give up with Olga around.” Then she winked and elbowed Corliss playfully.

Corliss liked Olga's style. She was fun, but still respectful. Stylish without coming off like a hoochie mama. And so sturdy-looking she seemed like she could take down a redwood without getting a splinter. Maybe Legend had finally met his match. Corliss would have to put the two of them in a room to find out.

“I'm sure your references are stellar, Olga, but I did want you to meet Legend before signing on.”

“Of course,” said Olga, tilting her chin up confidently. “I meet the little rascal and then we take it from there.”

“
Rascal
is the word for him, too—full disclosure!” replied Corliss. “But he's a great kid when you get to know him. He just gets himself involved in some unusual activities. Like today, for instance, he was, um, experimenting with egg yolks.”

“Hmm,” Olga said thoughtfully, “sounds creative. Let's meet little one.”

“Who you calling little one?” snarled someone a few feet below them, caked in egg yolk.

“Legend!” shrieked Corliss. “Aren't you supposed to be in a time-out in Max's trailer?”

Legend turned and shook his plump derriere in Corliss's general direction.

“Legend, don't be so rude—we have a guest.” Corliss turned to Olga. “This is Olga Rachmoninoff, the best nanny outside of Minsk.”

Olga and Legend stared each other down like two cowboys in a gunfight at high noon.

“You thuppothed to be
my
nanny?”

“You got problem with that?” said Olga sternly, her hands on her hips.

Legend looked Olga up and down. “Naw, I think you're kinda fly.” With that, he reached up for Olga's hand, clasped it, and the two of them strolled off down the beach leaving Corliss in a state of amazement.

Six

Bells were once again going off in Corliss's head. Not alarm bells, no. The bells she always heard when something felt perfect, predestined. And those beautiful clanging bells were because of Olga.

“You like me, no?” asked Olga, who was walking at Corliss's side. Corliss did indeed. Olga had spent a good half hour with Legend, and it was clear that with this nanny he'd finally met his match. After that, Corliss interviewed Olga briefly and determined her to be the perfect nanny. Years of experience, impeccable references, and an attitude that could scare Amy Winehouse straight. All in all, Olga was a twenty-first-century Mary Poppins.

“Olga, I can't tell you how much of a relief it is to meet you. To walk down this beach with you!”

“It's nice day, no?”

“It's a
great
day,” said Corliss, kicking sand with her foot as they headed to Max's trailer. “Max is going to be so relieved to meet you.”

“Max is good name.”

Corliss's wonderment continued as she pondered just how solid-gold Olga's résumé was. “You speak six languages! I mean, that won't really come in handy. Legend can barely speak his own language.”

“Olga notice. You know what? I cure this boy of lisp.”

“Really?” Corliss had never met anyone like Olga before. Everything seemed to come easily to her. She was the picture of proficiency. She'd even spent time working as a sous chef on a submarine!

“Did I bring up psychology degree at University of St. Petersburg?”

Corliss stopped in her tracks and staggered around in the sand. “Olga, if I was the kind of girl who liked girls, I might just propose right now.”

“Olga not lesbian. But many my friends are. We go hiking. Does this Legend like outdoors?”

“Well, he's got a lot of allergies so—”

“I cure him of allergies.”

Corliss was over the moon. As they continued moving toward Max's trailer, Corliss saw the next couple of weeks stretch out in front of her. Olga would step in and relieve her of her Legend babysitting duties—which would relieve her of some of the
emotional
babysitting she had to do with Max. That would leave more free time to figure out exactly what was going on with JB.

They arrived at the door to Max's trailer. “So,” Corliss said. “Here we are.”

“Very nice. Katie Holmes trailer not this good.”

Corliss smiled. She just knew this would go beautifully. “Now, let me do all the talking.” As Corliss raised her knuckles to give her signature three-quick-raps-in-succession knock, a noise emerged from within. It was an unearthly noise—a cat in heat, maybe?—and so high-pitched as to be almost indecipherable. Whatever was making it was sure in a lot of pain.

“THEY CANNOT GET MARRIED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION!”

Corliss's face fell. Max must have read The 'Bu-hoo. Maybe she should have been the one to tell him after all.

“NO ONE GETS MARRIED HERE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION!”

Max was taking the news much harder than Corliss would have predicted. She was just about to take Olga by the hand and lead her away from the ensuing bloodbath when Max appeared, practically tearing off the door to his trailer in an effort to escape.

When Max saw Corliss and Olga standing there, he froze, his face beet red, his choppy four hundred dollar haircut completely pulled this way and that.

“Um, hi, Max. Bad time?”

Max shook his head and let out the teeniest cry. “Nuh-uh.”