The Nanny Diaries (26 page)

starchedcollar. I straightentheknotandgototakehiminmyarms,buthepushesme away.

"No!"Andherunsoutof theroom.

"Nanny?" Mrs. Xcalls,shrilly.

"Yes?" I walktothehall.

"We'll bebackatfourintime foriceskating.Connie?" SheshakesherheadasConnieemergesfrom the

laundryroom, asifsheis simplytoodisgustedanddisappointedtospeak. "I justdon't knowwhatto say. It seems tome we are having thesesortsof problems on a regularbasis nowandI needyou to do some seriousthinkingaboutyour commitment leveltothisjob?

Mrs. X's cellphoneemits a sharpring. "Hello?" she answers while motioning for me to help her on with her mink. "Oh, hi, Justine ... Yes, they'll be down by three ... Yes, you can tell him she's packed everything ..." She walks away from us into the vestibule. "Oh, Justine? Could you see that I get his room number at the Yale Club?... In case Grayer has an emergency and I need to get a hold of him . .. Well, why would I call you? She takes a deep breath. "Well, I'm glad you see that doesn't make any sense ... Frankly, I don't want your apology. What I want is my husband's phone number ... I refuse to discuss this with you!" She slams her cell

phoneclosedwith suchforcethatitdropstothemarble floor.

Both women kneel to grab the phone just as the elevator door opens, but Mrs. X gets there first. With a shakinghandshepicksit

I 99

up and drops it into her clutch. She puts her other hand to the floor to steady herself, her icy blue eyes even with Connie's brown ones. "We seem to be unable to communicate, Connie," she hisses through clenched teeth. "So let me be crystal clear. I want you to gather your things and get out of my house. I wantyouout ofmyhouse.That's whatI want."

Shestandswith a shakeofher minkandpushes a stunnedGrayerintotheelevator asthedoorcloses.

Conniepulls herselfup bythefoyer tableandwalkspast mebackintotheapartment.

I take a moment tocollect myself beforeslowlyshuttingthefrontdoor.

I walk through the kitchen and find Connie standing with her back to me in the maid's room, her broad shouldersquivering inthesmall space. "God,Connie.Areyouokay?" I ask quietlyinthedoorway.

She turns to me. er pain and outrage so rawly palpable on her face that I'm struck silent. She slumps downontheoldtweedfold-outcouchandundoesthetopbuttonofher whiteuniform.

"I've been here twelve years," she says, shaking her head. "I was here before her and I thought I'd be hereafter."

"Do you want something to drink?" I ask, stepping into the narrow gap between the couch and the ironingboard. "Some juicemaybe?I couldtrytogetintotheliquorcabinet."

"She wants me to leave? She wants me to leave?" I sit down on Mrs. X's steamer trunk. "I've wanted to leavesincethefirstdayshegothere," shesnorts,reachingfor a half-ironedT-shirt andwiping hereyes. "Let me tell you something. hen they went to Lyford whatever. didn't get paid. I never get paid when they go away. Not my fault they're on vacation. I'm not on vacation. I still have three kids and plenty of bills to pay. And this year. his year. he asked him to declare me! They never declare me! Where am I supposedtocome upwith thatkindof moneynow?I hadtoborrowmoneyfrom

THE NANNY DIARIES

mymother to pay all thesetaxes."She sits back and pulls offher apron. "When Mrs. X and Grayer flew totheBahamaslastyearandI wasgoingtheretootoseemyfamily,shemademeflywith them. Grayer spilled juice all over hisself at takeoff and she didn't have a change for him and he's sitting there cold and wet and crying and she just pull on that sleep thing over her eyes and ignore him the whole flight. And I didn't getpaid forthat!Oh, was I mad. hat's whyI'm not a nanny.You ever hearaboutJackie?" I shakemyhead. "Jackie washisbabynurse,butshestayed tillGrayer wastwo."

"Whathappenedtoher?"

"Well, she got a boyfriend. That's what happened to her." I look at her quizzically. "For two years she just worked, she'd only been here maybe a few years and didn't have too many friends. So she practically lived here and she and Mrs. X got on okay. I think they got together about Mr. X traveling and Jackie dating no one special?you know, man troubles. But then Jackie met someone. e looked like Bob Marley. nd now she can't work Friday nights and she don't like to work the weekend if the Xesdon't beinConnecticut. SoMrs. Xstartsinwith howinconveniencedsheis. Butreally,shejealous. Jackie had that glow, you know. She had that look about her and Mrs. X couldn't stand it. So she fired her. NearlybrokeGrayer's heart.Afterthat. ewaslike a littledevil child."

"Wow." I take adeepbreath.

"Oh, you ain't heard the bad part. Jackie called me six months later. She couldn't get a new job because Mrs. X wouldn't give her a reference.You know, no reference, they think Jackie stole or something. So she got two years missing on her resume. And the agency didn't want to send her out no more." She stands up and wipes her hands slowly down her skirt. "That woman is pure evil. They have six nannies in four months before Caitlin. o one stayed. And one got fired for giving him a corn muffin in the park. Don't you never feed him if you want to keep your job, you hear?And Mr. X. eeps porn in his shoecloset,thenaaastykind."

I'm trying totakethis all in. "Connie,I'm sosorry."

"Don't you be sorry for me." She tosses the crumpled t-shirt onto the couch and marches with purpose intothekitchen. "You justwatch outforyourself."I followher.

She opens one of the empty Delft cookie jars on the counter and pulls out a handful of black lace, slammingit downonthetableinfrontofme.

PANTIES!

"AndI foundtheseunderthebed?

"Rightunderthebed?" I can't help asking.

She tilts her headdownat me. "Mm-hm. Nowhe's got theother one running all aroundhere, acting like she owns the place. It took me two days to get the stink of her perfume out of here before Mrs. X got back."

"Shouldsomebodytellher? Doyou thinksomebody shouldtellMrs. X aboutthis woman?" I ask, dizzy with reliefatfinallybeingabletoconsult acolleague.

"Now, you listen here.Ain't you beenhere for the last hour?It's not myproblem.And don't you make it your problem, either. It's none of our business. Now you better pack up Mr. X's things. gotta get out ofhere."Shereachesaroundandunties herapron,droppingitontothecounter.

"So,whatareyougonnado?"

"Oh, my sister, she works up the block, she always knows people who are lookin' for housekeepers and whatnot. I'll findsomething.It'll belessmoney,ifthat'spossible. But I'll findsomething. I always do."

She walks into the maid's room to collect her things, leaving me staring down at the black silk thong, screaminglikeprofanegraffitiagainstthepeachmarbletable.

THE NANNY DIARIES

Nanny,

Todayyouhave aplaydatewithCarteraftertennis. Pleasebetherebythree. TheMiltonslive at10 East67thStreetandI thinkyou. lbestayingforsupper. I. havingdinneratBolo.

I still can. findGrayer. bowtie. Didyoutakeithome? Pleasecheck.

Thanks.

Grayer is still crying when we finally get a cab. While I'm not allowed to walk him down doormanless side streets, his after-school activities routinely maroon us in desolate, cabless neighborhoods where any minute I'll be forced to choose between Grayer or my life. I haul him into the taxi, throw the tennis racketinafter him,andpulltherestof theequipment inwith me.

"Sixty-seventh andMadison,please."I lookatGrove. "How's yourhead?Anybetter?"

"It's okay." He slows down to a whimper, but it sounds like a whimper with staying power. He was lookingthewrongwaywhentheproturnedontheballfeeder.

"How about golf, G? I think we should try golf. Smaller balls, less damage." He looks up at me with wet eyes. "Come here." He leans across the seat and puts his head in my lap. I run my fingers through his hair and play with his ears just like my mom used to do. The motion of the car soothes him and beforeweeven reachMid-town he's asleep.Hemust bewiped.What adifferentlifewe'd all beliving if hewasonlyallowedtonap.

I pullbackmyraincoatsleeve tolookatmywatch.Whatwill anextrafifteenminutesmatter?

"Driver? Can you make a loop up to 110 and then back down theWest Side and across the Sixty-eighth Street transverse?"

"Sure, lady. Whateveryou say," I lookoutthewindowatthe

2O3

grayskyand pull mycoatcloser aroundme as round raindropshit the windshield,still waiting forApril showerstofeelliketheycouldleadtoMayflowers.

"Grover, wake up. We're here." He's a little groggy and wiping his eyes when I press the town house's doorbell, theracketslungover myshoulder.

"Hello?" anEnglishvoice saysfromtheintercom.

"Hi! It's Nanny and Grayer." There's no reply. I reach over and press the talk button again. "We have a playdatewith Carter."

"Really?"There's a pause. "Well,come on up, then."ThebuzzersoundsandI pushtheheavyglass door open, while Grayer stumbles aheadof me intothemarble entrancefoyer. Past thegrandstaircase, atthe back of house, is a solarium, whose long windows reveal a garden. Raindrops steadily fill the stone fountain.

"Hello?" a young voice asks. I look up from where I'm wrestling Grayer's coat zipper. A little boy Grayer's age with blond, curly hair is standing on the landing, his hand looped through the banister, leaning away on a diagonal. "Hi. I'm Carter." I've never seen this boy before and realize Grayer hasn't, either.

"I'm Grayer."

"Hello?" The same English voice calls down the stairs. "Just leave your gear anywhere and come on up."I throwourwet coatsontheflooranddrop ourgearbesideit.

"Go ahead, G." He runs up after Carter. I begin my ascent; on the first floor I pass a Venetian living roomatthefrontofthehouseand a Decodiningroomattheback.AsI reachthesecondfloor,featuring the Empire master bedroom and a man's study done in the African vein, lots of antelope heads and a zebra-skin rug, I'm audibly panting. I chug up to the third level, which has a large mural of Winnie-the!Poohpaintedonthelanding,andI'm guessingitisCarter's floor.

"Keepgoing!" I hearencouragementbeingshoutedfromabove.

"You're almost there,Nanny! Lazy!"

THE NANNY DIARIES

"Thanks, G!" I call up. I finally drag myself, sweating, to the fourth floor, which has been opened up

into alargefamily roomcumkitchen.

"Hi,I'm Lizzie. Stairs abit much,eh?Wantsomewater?"

"That would be lovely. I'm Nanny." I extend the hand that isn't clutching my abdomen. She's maybe a

few years older than me, wearing a gray flannel skirt, sky-blue oxford shirt, and a navy cardigan tied aroundher shoulders. I recognizeher aspartof thecommunityofhigh-class Britishimports whoregard this as a noble profession, requiring training and certification, and they dress accordingly. The boys have already run off to the corner, where a village of plastic Playskool houses are set up, to play what soundslikeSacktheSerfs.

"Here." Lizzie hands me the water. "I thought we'd just let them blow off steam for an hour and then

plunktheminfrontofTheJ-u-n-g-l-e B'O-O'k"

"Soundsgreat."

"I don't knowwhatI'm goingtodowhenCarterlearnshowtospell. Learnsignlanguage,I guess."

I stare at the rococokitchen cabinets, the distressed French tiles, the egg and dart moldings. "This is an

amazing house. Doyou

live in?"

"I have alittleflatonthetopfloor."I lookover atthestairsandrealizethat,yes,thereisanotherfloor.

"You mustbeinamazing shape."

"Trydoingitwith a knackeredfour-year-oldinyourarms."

Ilaugh. "I'venevermetCarterbefore.Wheredoeshegoto 1

school?"

"CountryDay,"shesays,takingmyemptyglass.

"Oh,I usedtolookafter theGleasongirls ?theywentthere. It's

a niceplace."

"Yeah?Carter,getoffhim!" I lookover justasGrayerisreleased

from a deathgrip.

"Wow, Carter,how'd youdothat?Showme,showme!" Grayer's eyes arealightatthediscovery.

"Oh,great," I say. "Nowhe'll beleapingouttoputme in a chokehold."

"A swift kick to the groin and they're down in no time," she says, winking at me. Where has she been

thiswholeyear? I couldhavehad a playgroundbuddy. "Hey,youwanttoseetheterrace?"

"Sure." I follow her out to a stone balcony overlooking the garden and the back of the brownstones on

theothersideoftheblock.We standundertheawningastherainsplattersthetipsofour shoes.

"It's beautiful,"I say, mybreathcoming inlittlepuffsof vapor. "It's arealnineteenth-centuryenclave."

Shenods. "Cigarette?" sheasks.

"You cansmoke?"

"Sure."

"Carter's momdoesn't mind?"

"Please."I takeone.

"So,howlonghaveyoubeenworkinghere?" I ask asshestrikesthematch.

"About a year. It's a little nuts, but compared to the other jobs I've had.... I mean, when you live in, you

know." She shakes her head, blowing smoke into the drizzle. "They run your life while you live in a closet off the kitchen.At least here I've got a great space. Those round windows?" She points with her cigarette. "That's my bedroom and that, there, is my sitting room. And my bath has a Jacuzzi. It was meanttobe aguestsuite,but,well,guestsare a littleoutofthequestion."