The Nanny Diaries (13 page)

When I get back in the living room Grayer is holding a silver baby spoon on a string and tapping on

Julio's ladder. "Hey! Howaboutthis?Wheredoesthis go?" heasks.

Julio looks down in disgust at the spoon. "That doesn't really gel with my vision? Grayer's eyes start to

well up. "Well, ifyoumust. Intheback.Onthebottom."

"G,I've got a plan.GrabAl, I'll getyourcoat."

"Grandma,Grayer. Grayer,this isGrandma."

My grandmother crouches down in her black satin pajama pants, her pearls clicking together as she

extends her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Grayer. And darling, you must beAl." Grayer blushes deeply.

"Well, arewedoingChristmas orwhat?Everybody inwhowantsrugelach."

"Thanksso much,Gran. We were in desperate needof a surface to decorate."The doorbellrings behind

usasI reachtotakeoffGrayer's coat.

"Asurface!Don't beridiculous."Shereachesover Grayer's head

to open the door and there stands a huge tree with two arms wrapped around it. "Right this way!" she

says. "Now, Grayer," she whispers, "you cover Al's eyes. It's all about the surprise." We kick off our

boots and follow closely behind them into the apartment. I've got to hand it to her. he has the

deliverymanplaceitsquarelyinthemiddleof thelivingroom. Sheseeshimoutandreturnstojoinus.

"Grandma,youreallydidn't havetogeta?

"If you're going to do something, darling, then do it all the way. Now, Grayer, let me hit the special effects and we'll get this soiree started." Grayer holds his hands carefully over Al's eyes as my grandmother turns on Frank Sinatra?Can't find Bing," she mouths?and hits the lights. She's lit candles all about the room, setting a beautiful glow around our family pictures, and as Frank croons "The Lady Is aTramp,"it's breathtaking.

SheleansdowntoGrayer. "Well, sir, wheneveryou're ready,I believeAl shouldmeethis tree."We both make drum-roll noises as Grayer takeshis hands offAl's eyes and asks him exactly where he wouldlike tohangoutfirst.

An hour later the two of us are lounging on cushions beneath the green boughs, sipping hot chocolate, while GrayerrelocatesAl atwhim.

"So,how's thedramawith your H. H.?"

"I can't get a read on him. I want him to be different from those boys, but there's really no good reason whyhewouldbe. Ofcourse,if1 never seehimagainit's prettyirrelevant."

"Keep ridingtheelevator, dear. He'll showup.So,howarefinals going?" sheasks.

"OnlyonemoreandI'm done. It's beeninsane. heXeshavebeenout atChristmas partiesevery night. I only study after Grayer goes to sleep, which, ultimately, is probably better than trying to concentrate over thesoundsof Charleneandherhairyboyfriend?Shelooksatme. "Don't evengetme started."

"Well, justdon't wearyourself out. It's notworthit."

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"I know. Butthebonusisboundtobegoodthisyear. he's mentionedParis."

"Ohlala,tresbien."

"Nanny, Al wants to know why Daddy isn't doing the high-ups," Grayer asks quietly from behind the tree. I lookover ather,unsurehowtoanswerhim.

"Grayer". hesmiles atme reassuringly?hasNantoldyouaboutwassailing?"

Heemerges. "Whatdidyousay?" Hecomes up closetoherandputshishandonher knee.

"Wassailing, darling.Whenyou wassail. ou make Christmas! You, little Grayer,are the very best gift you can give. All you do is knock on someone's door, someone you want to share the joy of Christmas with, and when they open it you sing your heart out. Wassailing. ou've got to try it!" He lies down nexttomeandwe lookup throughthebrancheswithour headstogetheron apillow.

"Grandma, you showme. Sing something," hesays. I turnmyheadandsmile at her. Fromwhere we lie sheseems tobeglowingassheleansagainstthechaisesurroundedbycandles. Shebegins tosingalong with her Frank to "The Way You LookTonight." Grayer closes his eyes and I fall just a little bit more in lovewith her.

A weeklater,inexcitedpursuit of Mr. X, Mrs. Xand Grayer marcheagerly aheadof me along thesame corridor I chased Grayer down at the Halloween party. Boughs of greens and twinkling colored lights nowhangwherefakecobwebshadbeen.

Mrs. X pushes Mr. X's heavyofficedooropen.

"Darling, come in." He stands, backlit by the setting sun, which pours in through the floor-to-ceiling windowsbehindhis desk.I am immediatelystruckbyhis capabilitytoexuderelaxedpower inthis

roomwith thelightsonaswellas off. HelooksthroughmeinGrayer's generaldirection. "Hey,sport."

Grayer tries to hand off the bag of Christmas presents we've brought for the charity his father's companysupports,but Mr. Xhas alreadypickedup theblinkingphone.

I takethepresentsandleandowntounbuckleGrayer's togglecoat.

"Justine said something about cookies in the conferenceroom. Why don't you take Grayer down there? I have to take this call and then I'll join you," Mr. X instructs, his hand over the mouthpiece. Mrs. X drops her mink on the couch and we file back out toward the sound of Christmas carols coming from behindthedoubledoorsattheendofthehall.

Mrs. X is a sugarplumvision inherMoschinogreensuitwith redholly-berry trimandmistletoe buttons. To top it off, the heels of her shoes are miniature snow globes with a reindeer in one and Santa in the other. I am just grateful not to be dressed up as Frosty the Snowman, and wear my Christmas-tree pin with pride.

With a grand smile she pushes the doors open into the conference room, at the far end of which sits a small gaggle of women, whom I assume to be secretaries, opening a tin of cookies and playing Alvin andtheChipmunkson atapeplayer.

"Ooh, I'm sorry. I'm looking for the Christmas party," Mrs. X says, Stopping short at the head of the table.

"Would you like a cookie? I made them myself," a jolly-looking robust woman with Christmas-tree!

lightearringscalls back.

"Oh."Mrs. Xseems confused.

The doors swing open again, narrowly missing Grayer and me. I inhalesharplyas Ms. Chicagosteps in

tojoinour cluster. Shemaneuversaroundustogetto Mrs. X,her tightflannelsuitleaving littlemore to

theimaginationthanherHalloweencostume did.

"I heardtherewere cookies,"shesaysas asturdy-looking

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brunettecomes flyinginbehindher,pushingus all forwardagainstthetable.

"Mrs. X,"thebrunettesays,slightlyoutofbreath.

"Justine,MerryChristmas," Mrs. Xgreets her.

"Hi,MerryChristmas, whydon't youcome with metothekitchenandwe'll getsomecoffee?"

"Don't be silly, Justine." Ms. Chicagosmiles. "There's coffee right here." She walks over to the chrome

potandpulls out aStyro-foamcup. "Won't yougoseewhat's takingthemsolongwith thosenumbers?"

"Are yousureyoudon't wanttocome with me,Mrs. X?"

"Justine."Ms. Chicagoraisesaneyebrow andJustinewalksslowlybackoutthedoubledoors.

"Are weearly?" Mrs. X inquires.

"Earlyforwhat?" Ms. Chicagoasks, pouringtwocupsofcoffee.

"Forthefamily Christmas party."

"That's next week.'m surprisedyour husbanddidn't tellyou.Shame onhim!" Shelaughs,handingthe

coffee to her. Grayer squeezes past Ms. Chicago's exposed knees, swaggering down to the other end of

thetabletowowthesecretariesoutof acookie.

Mrs. X stammers, "Well,um, myhusbandmust havegottenthedatesconfused."

"Men,"Ms. Chicagosnorts.

Mrs. X shiftstheStyrofoamcuptoherlefthand. "I'm sorry,havewe met?"

"Lisa. Lisa Chenowith,"Ms. Chicagosmiles, "I'm ManagingDirectoroftheChicagobranch."

"Oh,"Mrs. Xsays, "nice tomeetyou."

"I'm so sorry I couldn't get to your dinner party. heard it was lovely. Unfortunately,that slave-driver

husband of yours insisted I hightail it back to Illinois." She tilts her head to the side and smiles

brilliantly like a canary-filledcat. "Thegift bags wereadorable?everyonejustloves thepens."

"Oh, good." Mrs. X raises her hand protectively to her collarbone. "You work with my husband?"And

with thatI decidetomakehelpingGrayer pickouttheperfectreindeercookiemypersonalmission.

"I'm heading up the team working on the Midwest Mutual merger. Isn't it awful? Well, I'm sure you

know."

"Truly,"Mrs. Xsays, buthervoice rises,betrayingher uncertainty.

"Getting them down to eight percent was such a coup. You must have had some sleepless nights over

that one," she says, shaking her Titian hair in sympathy. "But I told him if we push the sell date up and

savethemtheliquidationcosts, theymightbend. ndtheydid.Theybentrightover."

Mrs. X stands very straight, her hand clenched tightly around the Styrofoam. "Yes, he's been working

veryhard."

Ms. Chicagostruts to our end of the table, her lizard-skin pumps silenton theplush carpet. "Andyou're

Grayer. Doyouremember me?" shebendsdowntoinquire.

Grayer places her. "You don't wearpants." Oh,sweet Jesus.

Just then the door opens and Mr. X strides in, his broad frame towering in the doorway. "Ed Strauss is

onthephone. ewantstogoover thecontract," hecalls downthetabletoMs. Chicago.

"Fine," she says, smiling, as she walks slowly back up the room past Mrs. X. "Merry Christmas,

everybody."Asshereaches Mr. X sheadds, "It wassolovely tofinallymeet yourfamily."

Hisjaw clenched, Mr. Xcloses thedoorswiftly behindthem.

"Daddy, wait!" Grayer attempts to follow him out of the room, but the Dixie cup of grape juice slips

from his grasp, staining both his shirt and the beige carpet a deep purple. Mercifully, we all turn our attention to the spill, gathering paper napkins and seltzer. Grayer stands whimpering while multiple manicuredhandsdab athis front.

"Nanny, I'd really appreciate it if you kept a closer eye on him. Just get him cleaned up.'ll be waiting inthecar,"Mrs. X instructs,placingheruntouchedcupofcoffeeonthetable,likeSnowWhite

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putting down the apple. When she looks back up she has pasted on a beaming smile for the secretaries.

"See you all nextweek!"

The next afternoon, having finished his lunch, Grayer announces our plans as he climbs down from his

boosterseat.

"Wassailing."

"What?"

"I want to wassail. I'm going to make my own Christmas. I knock on the door, you open it, and I sing

my heart out." I'm amazed that he's retained this from our visit over a week ago, but my grandmother

doeshave awayofnestling herselfintopeople's memories.

"Okay,whatdoorwouldyoulikeme tostandbehind?" I ask.

"My bathroom," he says over his shoulder as he heads off with purpose toward his wing. I follow him

andpositionmyself inthebathroomasdirected.A few momentslaterI hearhislittle knock.

"Yes," I say, "who's there?"

"NANNY,youarejustsupposedtoopenthedoor!Don't talk,justopenit!"

"Right. Ready when you are." I sit back on the toilet seat and start checking my hair for split ends,

sensingthatthisgamemaybeslowtogetofftheground.

Again, asmall knock.I leanforward andnudgethedooropen,almost knockinghimover.

"NANNY,that's mean!You're tryingtopushme!I don't likethat. Startover."

Eleven knocks later, I finally get it right and am rewarded with a screaming rendition of "Happy

Birthday" thatshakesthewindow-pane.

"Grover, why don't you try a little dancing while you wassail?" I ask when he finishes. "Really wow 'em?" I hopehemightquietdownifhehastodivert someenergytostayinginmotion. "Wassailing is not dancing, it is singing your heart out." He puts his hands on his hips. "Close the door

and I'll knock,"he says, asif suggestingthis routinefor thefirst time. We playwassailing forabout half an hour until I remember that Connie, the housekeeper, is here and sic Grayer on her. I hear him from across the apartment, screaming "Happy Birthday" over her roaring vacuum and after five rounds go backtocollectwhatisrightfullymine.

"Wanttoplaycars?"

"No.I wanttowassail. Let's gobacktomybathroom."

"Onlyifyoudance,too."

"Oh,man,oh,man,thereisNOdancingwhenI wassail!"

"Come on,mister,we're calling Grandma."

One short phone call later and Grayer is not only dancing and singing the actual "Here we come a

wassailing among the leaves so green," which is infinitely less painful, but I have been inspired with a

delicious plan.

As I give Grayer's wassailing outfit (green and red striped turtle-neck, felt reindeer antlers, candy-cane

suspenders) a final once-over for "ultra wassailyness," Mrs. X comes bustling in, Ramon in tow, laden

with boxes.

Her cheeks are rosy, her eyes are glistening. "Oh, it is a zoo out there, a zoo! I nearly got into a fight