The Nanny Diaries (28 page)

sheet in with my clothes. He closes the metal door. "Hungry?" He turns, illuminated by the light from

theneighbors'kitchen.

"Whatdoyouhave?" I askasheopensthefridge.

"My mom usually leaves a pretty stocked kitchen when she knows I'm going to be here by myself.

Tortellini?" Hebrandishes apackage.

"Ugh,ifI never seeanothertortellini? I shuffleover topeerintotherefrigeratoralongsidehim.

"Lasagna?" heasks.

"Ooooh,yes, please."

"Howaboutsomewine?"

I nod, grabbing a bottle of red and pushing the door closed with my hip. I lean against the fridge and

watchhim pullout platesandsetusup atthetableinhispolka-dot boxers. Gome.

"ShouldI heatthisup?" heasks,kissing mybareshoulderashepasses.

"Probably.Wantsomehelp?"

"No, you sit down." He hands me a wine glass. "You've had a hard day, frosting girl." He pulls

silverware outof a drawerandcarefully lays itoutonthetable.

"So,whereareyour parents?"

"TheytookmybrothertoTurkeyforhis break."

"Whyaren't youinTurkey?"I sipmywine.

"BecauseI'm here."Hesmiles.

"Hereisgood."I pour a secondglassandhandittohim.

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Helooksover atme,illuminatedbythelightfrom themicrowave. "You lookbeautiful."

"Oh, this old thing? It's a toga from the L. L. Bean collection." He laughs. "You know, I'm doing Latin

with Grayer now. HowoldwereyouwhenyoustartedLatin?"

"Umm . .. fourteen?" Hepulls thelasagnaoutof themicrowave andcomes over with twoforks.

"Well, you must have been a late bloomer, because he's four. He's wearing a tie now, have I mentioned

that?Not a child's tie,thefull-grown, hangS'to-the-floor-on-himkind." "Whatdoeshis momsay?"

"She doesn't even notice. She's been pretty off the deep end?she fired Connie for, like, no apparent

reasonandConnie's beentheresincebeforeGrayer wasevenborn."

"Yeah,thatmandrives his wives tothebrink." "Wait. hat?"

"Yeah, when Mr. X was cheating on his first wife, she completely laid into James in the lobby right in

front of some board members." I start choking on lasagna. "His first who?!" "His first wife, um,

Charlotte,I think,maybe."Helooksincredulouslyatme. "You didn't know?"

"No,1 didnotknow. Hewasmarriedbefore?" I havetostandup,hoistingmysheetwith me. "Yeah, but it was, like, a long time ago. I just assumed you knew." "Why would I know?! Nobody tells me anything. Oh, my God. Does he have any other kids?" I start pacing around the table. "I don't know. don't thinkso." "Whatwasshelike?Whatdidshelooklike?Didshelooklike

Mrs. X?"

"I don't know. Shewaspretty. Shewasblond?

"Was sheyoung?"

"I was akid.I dunno. hejustseemedlike agrown-up tome."

"Not helping.Think.Howlongweretheytogether?"

"Jeez,maybeseven,eightyears?

"Butnokids, huh?"

"Unlesstheykeptthemintheirstoragebin." I pausebythesinktoentertaintheideafor a briefmoment.

"So,why'd theysplit?"

"Mrs. X,"hesays, taking a bigforkfuloflasagna.

"Whatdoyoumean, 'Mrs. X'?"

"Canwe talkaboutyouinthesheetsomemore?" Hereachesoutforme asI pass.

"No.Whatdoyoumean, 'Mrs. X'?"

"Hewashaving anaffairwith Mrs. X."

"WHAT??!!" I nearlydropthesheet.

"Will youpleasesitdownandhavesomelasagna?" Hepointshis forkatthechairoppositehim.

I sit down and take a gulp of mywine. "Okay, but you have to begin atthe beginningand leavenothing

out."

"Okay, according to my mom, Charlotte X was a big art collector. She bought everything at Gagosian,

where your Mrs. X worked. Apparently, Charlotte sent Mr. X over to approve one of her larger

purchasesand ... theyhitit," hesays, grinning.

"Mrs. X??!!!" I cannotimagineMrs. X hitting it. Period.

"Yeah,andsometimes hewouldbringherherewhenhis wifewasawayandthedoormenstartedtalking.

Sopretty sooneveryone inthebuildingknew."Hestaresintohis wineglassbeforesipping.

"I justcannot. Cannot,cannot,cannotbelieve it."

"Well... it's true. I sawitwith myowntwelve-year-old eyes. Shewashot."

"Shutup,"I splutter.

"No,shewasredlipstick,tightdress, heels, thewholething.She ... was... hhhooot."

"Just finishthestory."

"Well, Seven Twenty-one Legend goes Charlotte found stockings that didn't belong to her and went racingdowntothelobby,

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clutching them in her hand, and completely lost it at James, wanting to know who had been up in the apartment. Shemovedout a fewweekslaterandyourMrs. X movedin."

I putthewine glass down. "I cannotbelieve you didn't tellme aboutthis," I say, suddenly a little cold in mysheetasthehightenorofemotion fromtheninthfloorcatchesup withme.

"Well, you've been so stressed out? He puts down his fork. I push sharply back from the table and step over to the dryer. "So, if I don't know about it, then it doesn't affect me." I pull out my damp clothes. "Such fucking Boy Logic. I'm sorry. ave I been bringing you down with this little job of mine?" "Look, Nan,I said I was sorry."Hestands. "No you didn't. You did not sayyou were sorry." Warm tears fill myeyes asI tryawkwardly topullonmydampsweater withoutrevealingmyself beneaththesheet.

He comes around the table and gently takes the sweater. "Nan, I'm sorry. Lesson learned: tell Nan everything." Hereacheshis handaroundmybarewaist.

"It's justthatyou're theonlypersoninmycornerandtofindoutyou're holdingoutonme?

"Hey,now,"hemurmurs, pullingme againsthim. "I am the

mayor ofyourcorner."

I mush my face into his collarbone. "I'm sorry, I'm just so burned out. I know I'm way too consumed by this job. I really don't want to care if he had a first wife. I really don't want to spend tonight talking aboutthem."

He kisses the top of my head. "Well, then, how about some music?" I nod up at him and he goes to the stereoonthecounter."So I guessDonnaSummer isout?"

I laugh, willing myself to return to the eleventh floor. I shuffle up behind him and wrap us both in the sheet.

I take another sip of my third cup of coffee and try to stay awake as I wait for Grayer's dinner to finish steaming through. Despite my afterglow it's still been a very long day on only two hours' sleep. I push up the sleeves on the faded heather crewneck H. H. gave me this morning so that I wouldn't be coming to work in the same clothes I wore yesterday. Not that these people would notice if I came to work wearing a clownnoseandpasties.

AsI slidethesteamedkaleontohis plate,Grayer slidesdown,stomachfirst, offhis boosterseat.

"Whereyougoing,little man?" I ask, popping asteamedcarrotinmymouth.

He pads over to the refrigerator and turns to admonish me. "I said not to call me that! No more 'little man'! I want some juice. Open the refrigerator," he says with his hands on his hips and his tie dangling over his pajamas.

"Please,"I sayover his head.

"Please! Open it! I want juice." His exhaustion from this afternoon's round of tutorials is starting to show.

I pull thefridge open andreachfor themilk. "You knowthere's no juice with dinner. Soy milk or water, take your pick." "Soy milk," he decides, reaching up with both arms. "I'll get it for you, Grove. Why don't yougetbackupinyourseat?" I walkback tothetablewith theEdensoy.

"NO! I want to. I want to, Nanny. Don't walk with it. Let me? He's so cranky when it gets near mytime toleave,makingthelastpartofmyshiftthemost trying.

"Hey, take it easy. Come on over and let's do it together," I suggest cheerfully. He pads back and stands at the table, his head level with the cup. She hates it when I let him pour. Not that I'm a huge fan of the task myself, as it can take forever and frequentlyconcludes with me down on my hands and knees with a sponge. However,givenhis badmood, I'd ratherjustdoitwith himthansendhiminto

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a tantrum fifteen minutes before I have to leave for my eight o'clock class. He reaches his hands up to placethembelowmineontheboxandwepourthesoymilktogether,spillingonly marginally.

"Great job!There you go, little ma. rover. Climb back up and let's knock dinner off." He climbs onto his booster seat,stabbinghalfheartedly atthelimp vegetables, completely forgetting theglass of milk. I look at my watch and decide rinsing offthe dishes will be the most productive way to pass my last few minuteshere,asheseemsinnomoodtochat.

I place the last pot in the dryer rack and turn to check on Grayer just in time to see him lift up the cup andverydeliberately pouritonthefloor.

"Grayer!" I run over with the sponge. "Grayer! Why did you do that?" I look up from the floor. He is sheepish, biting down on his bottom lip, clearly a little shocked at himself. He shifts away from me in his booster. I crouch next to him. "Grayer, I asked you a question. Why did you just pour your milk on thefloor?"

"I didn't want it. Stupidhead Maria will clean it up." He drops his head back and looks up at the ceiling. "Stop talking to me." Soy milk seeps up my wrists where the sweater has come unrolled. A wave of exhaustionbreaksover me.

"Grayer, that is not okay. It's a waste of food. 1 want you to climb down here and help me clean this up." I push back his chair and he kicks out at me, narrowly missing my face. I swerve back, stand up, and turn away from him to count to ten. I look at my watch to make a plan before I turn around and do anything I'll regret. Jesus, she's fifteenminuteslate. Myclass startsinforty-fiveminutes.

I turn back to him and respond steadily. "Fine. Stay there, then. I'm going to clean this up and then it's time for bed.You are breaking rules and thattells me thatyou are very tired.Too tired for stories." "I'M NOTHUNGRY!" Hebursts intotears,slumping downinthebooster. I wipeup themilk,trying tokeep

H. H.'s sweaterawayfromthewet floor,andsqueezethespongeoutintohis plate.

By the time I've gotten everything into the dishwasher Grayer has tuckered himself out and is ready to forget about the whole incident. I place his tie over his shoulder and carry him back to his room, noting that I now have a leisurely twenty minutes to make it to Washington Square for Clarkson's lecture and have not received so much as a phone call from this child's mother. I keep hearing the whir of the elevatorandperkingup,readyforhertowalkinthedoorandtakeover soI cancabittoclass.

I peel Grayer down to his birthday suit. "Okay, go in the bathroom and pee, please, so we can put on your nighttime pull-ups." He runs into the bathroom and I pace; I only ask to leave before eight on Thursdaynights, forGod's sake.You'd thinkshecouldmanagejustonenightoutof five.

The bathroom door swings open and Grover stands in the door frame in a naked ta-da, arms over his head,tiehangingover his privates. Herunspastmetothebedandgrabs his pajamatop.

"If I put 'em on can we read a book?One book?" He struggles to pull the striped shirt over his head and myheartgoesouttohim.

I sit down on the comforter to help, turning him to face me between my knees. "Grayer, why did you pourthemilkonthefloor?" I ask softly.

"I feltlikeit,"hesays, restinghis handsonmyknees.

"Grove, it hurt my feelings because I had to clean it up. It's not okay to be mean to people and it is not okay to be mean to Maria. It makes me very sad when you call her 'stupidhead'because she's my friend andshe's goingtodonicethingsforyoueveryday."I leanforwardandcirclehiminmyarms asheputs his fingersupinmyhair.

"Nanny,sleepover onthefloor,okay?Justsleepover andthenwecanplaytrainsinthemorning."

"I can't, G. I haveto go home and feed George.You wouldn't wantGeorge not to have anydinner. Now go pick out one book and we'll read it. One." He heads over to the bookcase. The front door mercifully clicks openandGrover runsoutintothehall. Five minTHE NANNY DIARIES

utes! I havefive minutes toget toclass! 1 followright behindhim andwe bothcatch up toMrs. X,clad in a Burberry trench, about a foot from her office. It is clear from her hunchedshoulders and quick step thatshehadnointentionofcoming intoGrayer's room.

"Mommy!" Grayer wrapsaroundherfrom behind.

"I haveclass,"1 say, "I havetogo.Um, it's ateightonThursdays?

She turns to me as she attempts to spatula Grayer from her leg. "I'm sure you can still make it if you take a cab,"shesaysdistractedly.

"Right. Well, it's eight now, so ... I'll just get my shoes, then. Good night, Grayer." I scurry into the hall topullmystuffon,hopingtheelevator hasn't gonedownyet.

I hear her sigh. "Mommy's exhausted, Grayer. Go get into bed and I'll read you one verse from your Shakespearereaderandthen

it's lightsout."

Down on the street I run past the doorman to the corner and flail madly for a cab, hoping, at least, to make it downtown for the closing summary. I unroll the window completely, promising myself that I'll clarify myhoursbeforenextweek's class andknowingthatI probablywon't.