The Nannies (7 page)

14

“We’re about to get started. Slather on the sunblock. I don’t want any lawsuits!” Bronwyn instructed the contestants.

Kiley rubbed sunscreen onto her arms and tried not to stare at Cindy. God, she had the most amazing body. So did Veronique, and Tamika, and Steinberg, all of whom were showing miles of skin. It left Kiley feeling pasty and self-conscious in her stupid one-piece, wishing she had spent less time at Pizza-Neatsa in downtown La Crosse and more time in the pool.

Neither Kiley nor any of the other contestants knew what A.M. had planned for this first elimination. But it was obvious the challenge would have something to do with water. A flunky adjusted A.M.’s body mike, then moved out of the shot as the camera’s red light went on.

“Welcome to the Brentwood Hills Country Club, the most exclusive country club in the world. If you have to ask if you can join, you can’t. If you have to ask how much it costs, you can’t afford it. Whoever is selected as Platinum Nanny will spend a lot of very fun days here, since Platinum is a member.” A.M. eyeballed the contestants. “It bears repeating that being Platinum Nanny is a lot of responsibility. You might even be called upon to save your children’s lives. Scott?”

Scott Lyman stepped up to A.M. with a boyish grin; A.M. snaked an arm around him. “This hunk of manhood is Scott, one of the club lifeguards.”

Scott faced the camera. “This is my fifth year here,” he said. “I’m a former Olympic swimmer in the backstroke.”

Cindy broke into applause. The rest of the contestants followed, including Kiley.

“Thanks,” Scott said. “How many of you know mouth-to-mouth?”

Veronique was the only one who raised her hand.

“If you’re teachin’, I’m learnin’,” Tamika called out sassily.

“That’s exactly right, Tamika,” said A.M. “Scott here is going to teach all of you official Red Cross mouth-to-mouth. Then, we’re going to have a little competition.” She turned to Jimmy. “You okay with that, Jimmy?”

The boy from Mississippi turned beet red at the thought of a lifesaving lip-lock with Scott, but kept his cool. “Bring it on,” he growled.

A.M. laughed. “You’re a good sport. But actually, we’ve got a different teacher for you. Meet Annette.” A petite female lifeguard stepped up next to Scott. She looked like a young version of Catherine Zeta-Jones.

“Ooowee!” Jimmy exclaimed. “Annette, show me the way.” Easton tugged on Esme’s hand. “Pee-pee!” She held her crotch through her babystyle bottle-green capri pants with a look of desperation.

Esme took advantage of the contestants’ mouth-to-mouth lesson to get the girls to the bathroom, where they were fascinated by the automatic toilets, wanting to flush them over and over, tearing off pieces of tissue and watching them disappear. They explained to Esme that in Colombia they’d done pee-pee in the dirt outside their rural orphanage. They said it so innocently and without embarrassment that Esme knew it had to be true. And here they were a few days later, in this real-life fantasy-land called rich people’s America.

Lydia made room for the three of them when they came back, and pointed to the buff lifeguard. “Think that guy is cute?”

“Not my type,” Esme told her.

“At least he’s not five feet tall and naked,” Lydia replied philosophically.

Esme shook her head. This girl said the strangest things.

“Coming through, coming through.” The crowd parted so that a production assistant could lead a group of men into the circle of contestants. They ranged from young-and-morbidly-obese to cadaverous-and-old-enough-to-be-your-great-grandfather. All of them wore decrepit, moth-eaten clothes. Easton and Weston held their noses and told Esme in Spanish that the men smelled bad.

“I hope no one in this crowd understands Spanish,” Esme whispered to Lydia.

“Body language always tells the story,” Lydia pointed out, since the two kids were fanning the air in front of their faces and laughing at the same time.

Once the commotion settled, A.M. addressed the contestants again. “Now we’re going to test those mouth-to-mouth skills! Unfortunately our TV audience doesn’t have smell-o-vision, or you’d understand that for the last three days, these men have consumed nothing but garlic, kim chi, and beer. Their clothes have been marinated in a pigsty.”

A.M. began matching up victims and contestants, pushing the most ancient geezer at the girl in the navy tank suit. “Kiley, this is Ralph,” she said. “Meet your drowning victim.”

“Kiley—cute name,” Lydia commented as the girl folded her arms and nodded. “See, she’s not freaked out.”

Meanwhile, with the exception of Kiley and Cindy, all the contestants appeared on the verge of nausea. Jimmy was greenest of all, because Annette had been replaced by a toothless man with three days’ worth of gray stubble on his chin and a festering sore on his forehead.

“Contestants: you never know what you’ll be called upon to do when you’re a nanny. You’re about to demonstrate what you learned on your victims. Scott and Annette will judge your technique. And Platinum is watching even as I speak, via a live feed to her home. Hello, Platinum!” A.M. waved to the camera. “Platinum will consider Scott and Annette’s opinions, but ultimately—if you know Platinum—she makes her own decisions. Oh, one last thing. Mom?” A.M. motioned for Mrs. McCann to join her. “I think we all know Kiley’s mom by now. Since your daughter is the youngest one here, we thought she might benefit from a little hometown cheerleading. You up for it?”

“Sure.”

“Good. She’s going to need it. The Platinum Nanny will have to be very fit; kids can wear you out. So contestants, before you demonstrate your mouth-to-mouth skills, Scott will lead you in a little workout. Scott?”

The lifeguard stepped forward. “Contestants, follow me. Try to keep up. We’ve got paramedics ready just in case.”

Paramedics?
Kiley gulped hard.

“Spectators can see what our home audience sees by watching the monitor,” A.M. added as a big-screen TV was wheeled out onto the patio. She pulled a whistle out of her pocket. “Contestants ready?”

She blew the whistle. “Go!”

15

Scott charged forward, the contestants in hot pursuit. Jimmy kept up easily, Cindy right behind him, the others trailing. Kiley found herself dead last. Other than swimming, she was definitely not a jock girl; she huffed and puffed to stay within shouting distance of the pack as Scott sprinted for the golf course.

“Shit.” Tamika suddenly stumbled, turning her ankle as she did. Kiley flashed past her, sucking wind. They’d covered at least a half mile when Scott suddenly stopped by a twenty-five-foot portable tower. From it hung seven different ropes.

“Climb up, ring your bell at the top, then climb back down!” he bellowed at the contestants.

Rope climbing?
Kiley felt desperate as she wheezed her way to the tower. She couldn’t climb a rope. A few million people would get to watch her demonstrate her weenie arm strength on national television.

But Scott pointed to a rope and Kiley grabbed it, gritted her teeth, and started to hoist herself up hand over hand. By the time she was halfway to the top, Jimmy and Cindy were already on their way back down. Kiley struggled to hang on; it felt as if her arms were going to be yanked loose from their sockets.

“Might as well pack it in, jailbait,” Jimmy jeered as he passed Kiley.

Other than Tamika, who hadn’t even approached the tower, Kiley was still in last place. But she hadn’t come all this way to quit. She dug deeper, groaned with the effort, and hoisted herself to the top of the tower. A quick bell ring, then she scrambled halfway down and made up a little time by dropping to the ground. She skinned both knees, but got up and ran on. Up ahead, was a set of low-slung barriers.

“Go under!” yelled one of the assistants.

Kiley dropped to the ground, eating dirt as she snaked along, but made up some lost time on Steinberg and Veronique. Next were hurdles, followed by a cable swing over a muddy pond. Kiley willed her burning arms to hold her, but her grasp slipped and she slid into the muck. She scrambled out, blackened with mud, and tried again. This time, she succeeded, but by the time she got back to the pool, she was still in fifth place.

“Swim!” A.M. ordered. “One lap each, backstroke, breast-stroke, crawl!”

“Go, Kiley!” she heard her mother shout. “Swim!”

Kiley grinned. Swimming was her long suit. She dove into the water, flipped, and started her backstroke. It was just her and the water, in perfect harmony.

By the time Kiley finished the medley, she’d passed contestant after contestant and moved into second place. Only Jimmy was ahead of her, and just by a couple of seconds.

“Out of the pool and revive your victim!” A.M. bellowed.

As Kiley scrambled out, her fully clothed “victim” leaped in. For a split second, Kiley froze. What the hell was she supposed to do?

“Jump back in, Kiley, go-go-go!” her mother boomed.

Go-go-go?
She was so exhausted she wanted to die-die-die. But she launched herself back into the pool anyway, stroking toward her victim. The crowd and the camera crews moved to the edge of the pool to watch; a lot of people cheered for Kiley. She was the first one to catch her victim, drag him out of the water at the shallow end, and start mouth-to-mouth.

“Nice job, Kiley!” Scott encouraged her.

Ten minutes later, A.M. ended the competition. Kiley had “revived” her victim to Scott’s satisfaction. The other girls were at varying stages of mouth-to-mouth. Jimmy was still in the pool. His victim had turned out to be a fabulous swimmer; Jimmy couldn’t catch him.

“Need some oxygen, Jimmy?” A.M. said with a smirk.

And now
you
might as well pack it in,
Kiley thought.

A.M. turned back to the crowd. “Thank you, folks, for being such good sports. Watch
Platinum Nanny
starting next week to see who survived this competition!”

The crowd broke up. Lydia nudged Esme. “Was that girl Kiley cool or what? Let’s go meet her.”

Esme froze, feeling uncomfortable and out of place. “No, I really can’t, I—”

Too late. Lydia sidled over to Kiley, and Weston was holding Lydia’s hand. Esme had no choice but to follow.

“Hey,” Lydia told Kiley. “You were fantastic.”

“Thanks,” Kiley said. “Are you one of the production assistants?”

“No, just a face in the crowd. Lydia Chandler.”

“Kiley McCann.” Her eyes shot over to the older woman. “That’s my mom.”

“Yeah, we heard. She’s cool.” Lydia lightly touched Esme’s arm. “And this is Esme—”

“Castaneda,” Esme filled in. She tried to pry Weston’s hand out of Lydia’s, but the child wouldn’t budge. “Meet Weston and Easton. I’m their nanny.”

Lydia took a moment to study Kiley’s face. “Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Lindsay Lohan before they glammed her up? I saw this photo spread in
Teen People
a couple of years ago, and I swear you look just like her.”

“I wish,” Kiley said, laughing.

“What are you supposed to do now?” Lydia asked.

Kiley wrung some water out of her drenched hair. “Get some first aid for my knees, I guess. Then go back to the hotel and make private tapes about how we feel about the other contestants. Then they’ll make the elimination decision.”

“Then?”

“The world’s hottest bath. After that, if I’m still in the comp—”

“You will be,” Lydia assured her.

“I hope,” Kiley said. “Anyway, I guess I’ll watch TV tonight with my mom. If I’m kicked out, we’ll go home.”

Lydia put a hand on her hip. “You’re not going home. And I know you don’t really want to watch TV with your mom all night, do you?”

“No,” Kiley admitted. “Not really.”

“So how about all three of us go out and party?” Lydia suggested. “I was thinking about having sex with that lifeguard, but that can wait.”

“Shhh!” Esme hissed, eyes darting down to the children. The two little girls looked up, wide-eyed.

“Why? It’s not like it’s a dirty word,” Lydia told her.

“I’m on two-week probation at my job.” Esme kept her voice low. “I don’t want to mess up, okay?”

Lydia nodded. “Sorry. From now on, I’ll edit if they’re around.” She smiled down at Weston, whose little hand still clutched hers.

“La nueva chica tiene pelo muy bonito,”
Weston said, gazing upward at Lydia.

“She’s in love with your hair,” Esme translated.

Lydia smiled down at Weston.
“Gracias.”

“Usted es una estrella de las películas?”
the little girl asked Kiley.

“She wants to know if you’re a movie star,” said Esme.

“Tell her no, but thanks,” Kiley answered as she shrugged into a terry cloth robe an assistant thrust at her. “The lifeguard. Is he your boyfriend, Lydia?”

“Nah. We just met,” Lydia explained cheerfully.

“You’re going to have sex with a boy you just met?”

“Maybe. But he can wait. I have a friend who can get us into De Sade. You know that club?”

“No, but—”

“Then we should go clubbing tonight.”

Esme could not picture herself “clubbing” with these two Anglos. She loved to dance, but she and Junior always went to certain places in their neighborhood and saw the exact same people they saw on the streets during the day. Sometimes they’d venture to a private club in Long Beach or Alhambra, but most everyone at those places was Latino, too. It occurred to her that she really didn’t have any Anglo friends. Besides, she still had to take the children home, return to the Echo, finish packing her things, and move.

The short version she gave to Lydia and Kiley was that she had to move into the Goldhagens’ guesthouse that night.

“You mean like Steven Goldhagen who does all those TV series?” Kiley asked.

Esme nodded. “They just adopted these girls.”

“Awesome. I have a driver,” Lydia said. “He can pick y’all up. What time?”

Kiley said she was staying at the Hotel Bel-Air, and added that she didn’t know how her mom would feel about her going out.

“You’ll figure out a way,” Lydia predicted. She turned to Esme. “Where does your boss live? I bet his place is out of control.”

“I really don’t think I can go this evening, but thank you for inviting me.”

“Oh, sure you can,” Lydia insisted. “You’re free at night, right?”

Esme couldn’t lie. “Unless they ask me to watch the children. But I should be around in case they need me.”

“Give me your cell phone.” She put her hand out for Esme’s phone, then punched in her own phone number. “Call and let me know. We want you to come.”

Kiley nodded.

Esme took the phone back, with no intention of calling. There were only so many life changes she could make all at once. Partying with girls from another planet would have to wait.