The Nanny Diaries (5 page)

TUESDAY 4-5:00: Swimming lesson atAsphalt Green, 90th Street and East EndAvenue (One emaciated woman in aChanelswimsuit andfive nanniesinmuumuus all pleadingwith toddlersto "Getinthewater!")

WEDNESDAY 2-3:00: Physical educationatCATS,ParkAvenueat64thStreet (Deepinthebowels of acold, dankchurchthatsmells likefeet,thoroughly choreographedgamesforthepint-sized athlete.)

5-5:45: Karate,92ndStreetY onLexington

(Kids who quake with fear do fifty push-ups on their knuckles as a warm-up.The one class daddies

attend.)

THURSDAY

2-2:45: Pianolessonathome with Ms. Schrade("Music" tobetorturedby.)

5-6:00: FrenchClass,AllianceFrancaise,60thStreetbetweenMadisonand

Park

(Standardafterschoolactivities conductedinanotherlanguage.)

THE NANNY DIARIESFRIDAY

1-1:40: Ice skating,The Ice Studio, Lexington between 73rd and 74th Street (Coldas fuck. nd damp.

Struggle through a thirty-minute "Changeof Terror," sharp metal blades flying everywhere, sochildren cangetoniceforfortyminutesandcome backouttochangeagain.) I will letyouknowwhenheisscheduledforthe: Optician Orthodontist Orthodicfittings Physical therapist Ayurvedic practitioner Intheeventof a class cancellationthefollowing "nonstructured"outingsare permissible: TheFrick TheMet TheGuggenheimSoho TheMorganLibrary TheFrench CulinaryInstitute TheSwedishConsulate OrchidRoomof theBotanicalGarden NewYork StockExchangeTradingFloor

TheAngelika(PreferablytheGerman Expressionistseries,butanything

with subtitleswill do.)

I shrug and open the envelope, thrilled to discover that despite only working two hours, she's paid me for the whole day. The Envelope is a major perk of being a nanny. Traditionally, we're kept off the books and dealt with strictly in cash, which always keeps me hoping she'll stick in an extra twenty. A girl I knew lived-in with a family whose father slipped a few hundred dollars under her door whenever his wife dranktoomuchand "caused ascene."It's like

waiting tables. oujustnever knowwhenthecustomer mightbeoverwhelmed withappreciation.

"Caitlin? Hi, I'm Nanny,"I say. Mrs. X toldme thatmycolleague is blond andAustralian, which makes her fairlyeasy topick outamid theseaof facesthathavehadworkdoneandthefacesthatare doingthe work.I recognizeherfrom theXes'photosessioninthepark.

She looks up from where she sits on the school steps, sensibly outfitted in an Izod shirt and jeans, a sweatshirt tied round her waist. She's holding Grayer's apple juice in her right hand with the straw alreadyin it. I'm impressed.

Just as she stands to return my greeting, our charge and his classmates are released by his teacher and the courtyard becomes instantly animated. Grayer comes streaking through the crowd toward Caitlin, butscreechesto ahaltwhenheseesme,his enthusiasmvisibly drainingoutthroughhis Keds.

"Grayer, Nanny'11 be coming to the park with us this afternoon. on't that be fun?" I sense from her tone that she isn't quite convinced we're in for a laugh riot. "He's always a bit cranky when school lets out,buthegetsover itfineoncehe's hadhis snack."

"I'm sure."

It is chaos around us aschildren are snackedand play dates are made. I'm impressed by the finessewith whichsheworksGrayer fromsnacktostrollertogood-byes. Hemaintainsscreamingconversationwith three of his classmates while getting a sweater put on, a Baggie opened, homework unpinned from his lapel, and a stroller strapped under him. She's like a puppeteer, keeping the play in motion. I debate takingnotes. "Righthandonstroller handle,lefthandpulldownsweater,twostepsleftandsquat."

We headtoward theparkastheychatter away. Shepropelshim

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forward with ease, though he can't be a light load with his sand toys, school stuff, and backup supplies of snack.

"Grayer,who's yourbestfriendatschool?"I ask.

"Shut up, stupidhead," he says, kicking out at my shins. I walk the remainder of the way well outside his fieldof stroller vision.

After lunch Caitlin takes me around to meet the other nannies in the playground, most of whom are Irish, Jamaican, or Filipino. They each give me a quick, cold appraisal and I get the sense I won't be making alotof friendshere.

"So whatdoyoudoduringtheweek?" sheaskssuspiciously.

"I'm asenioratNYU,"I say.

"I couldn't figure out how she found someone who only wanted to work weekends." What? Weekends what?

She reties her ponytail while she continues. "I'd do it, but I wait tables on the weekends and, really, one needs a bit of a break by Friday. I thought they had a girl who worked weekends in the country, but I guess she didn't work out. Are you planning on driving out with them to Connecticut on Friday nights or takingthetrain?" ShelookspointedlyatmeasI starebackatherinconfusion.

Thenit is suddenlyclearto both of us whywe aren't meant to discuss the "transition." I'm not the pinch hitter,I'm thereplacement.A sadnessflickersover herfeatures.

I reachtochangethesubject. "So,what's with thecard?"

"Oh, that grotty old thing." She swallows. "He carries it everywhere. He'll be wanting it pinned to his trousers and in his pajamas. It drives the Mrs. crazy, but he refuses to so much as put on his underpants withoutit."Sheblinks a fewtimes andthenturnsaway.

We make it full circle back to the sandbox where another family, who I assume from their matching shell suitsandoverwhelming zestforlifearetourists,is playing.

"He's so cute. Is he your only child?" the mother asks in a flat Midwestern accent. I'm twenty-one. He's four.

"No,I'm his?

"I told you to get out of here, you bad woman!" Grayer hurls his stroller at me, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Blood rushes to my face as I retort with false confidence, "You ... silly!" The tourist clan focus intently on agroup sand-castleproject.

I consider taking a playground poll as to whether I should "get out" and, if I choose not to, does this, in fact,makeme a"badwoman"?

Caitlin rights the stroller as if his throwing it were part of a fabulous game we're playing. "Well, looks to me like somebody has a bit of energy and wants me to catch him!" She chases him all over the playground, laughing deeply. He slides down the slide and she catches him. He hides behind the monkey bars and she catches him. There is a lot of catching overall. I start to chase her as she chases him, butgive upwhenhelookspleadinglyintomyeyes, moaning "STOaaaooop."I walkto a bench.As I watch themplayI haveto handit to her. She has perfectedthemagic act thatis child care, creating the illusionof aneffortlessrelationship; shecouldbehis mother.

Eventually, Caitlin drags him over to me with a Frisbee in hand. "Well now,Grayer, whydon't we teach Nanny the Frisbee game?" We stand in triangular formation as she tosses the Frisbee to me. I catch it and toss it to Grayer, who gracefully receives it by sticking out his tongue and turning his back to both of us. I pick up the Frisbee from where it has landed by his feet and toss it back to her. She throws it to himandhecatchesitandthrowsitbackto her. It seemstotakehours,thishaltingcircuit thatcomes to a full stop whenever contact is required between him and me. He simply denies thatI exist and sticks out his tongue at any effort to prove otherwise. We play on and on because she wants to make it right and thinks maybe she can wear him down to the point where he will at least toss me a Frisbee. I think we have all setoursightsjust alittletoohigh.

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Three days later, just as I bend over to pick up the grubby little sneaker Grayer has hurled into the Xes' marbleentryway,thefrontdoorslamsbehindmewith a loudbang.I jerkupright,still holdinghis shoe.

"Shit."

"I heard you! You said 'Shit.' You said it!" Muffled sounds of a gleeful Grayer make their way through theheavydoor.

I steadymyvoice andreachfor a low, authoritative octave. "Grayer,openthedoor."

"No! I can stick my fingers out at you and you can't see. I got my thung thitikin out, too." He's sticking his tongueoutatme.

Okay, options. Option One, knock on crotchety-matron-across-the-way's door. Right, what am I going todothen?CallGrayer?Invite himover fortea?Hislittle fingerssweepoutbeneaththedoor.

"Nanny, try to catch my fingers! Do it! Do it! Come on, catch "em!" I concentrate every muscle on not steppingonthem.

Option Two, go down to the doorman and get extra keys. Right. By the time he finishes describing this toMrs. Xnoteven JoanCrawfordwouldhireme.

"You're not even playing! I'm going to go take a bath. So don't ever come back here, okay? My mom said you don't ever have to come back." His voice gets quieter as he starts to move from the door. "Goingtogetinthetub."

"GRAYER!" I scream before I catch my breath. "Don't walk away from this door. Ummm, I have a surprise out here for you." OptionThree, wait until Mrs. X gets home and tell her the truth: her son is a sociopath. But just as I settle on Option Three, the elevator door slides open and Mrs. X, her neighbor, andthedoorman all step out.

"Nanny? Naaanny, I don't want your surprise. So go away. Really, really, go, get out of here." Well, at least we've all been updated. With a few "ahems" the neighbor lets herself into her apartment and the doormanhandsoffthepackagehe's beencarrying anddisappearsbackintotheelevator.

I holdupGrayer's shoe.

Asif for astudioaudience,Mrs. Xwhipsouther keys andproceedstoremedythesituation. "Well,then.

Let's get this door open!" She laughs and unlocks the door. But she swings it open a little too quickly andcatchesoneof Grayer's fingers.

"AHHhhhhhh.Nannybroke my hand!AAAAAHhhhhh. y hand is broke. Get out of HEERRrrreeee!

GooOOOOoooo!"Hethrowshimself ontothefloor,sobbing,lostingrief.

Mrs. X bendsdown,asif abouttoholdhim,thenstraightensup.

"Well, looks like you really tuckered him out at the park! You can go on ahead. I'm sure you have a ton

of homework to do. We'll see you Monday,then?" I reachcarefully inside thedoorway and put his shoe

downinexchangeformybackpack.

I clearmythroat. "Hejustthrewhis shoeandI?,

At the sound of my voice Grayer lets out a fresh wail. "LEEAAAVVE!Ahhahhha."She stares down at

him as he writhes on the floor, smiles broadly, and pantomimes that I should get the elevator. "Oh, and

Nanny,C-a-i-t-l-i-n won't bereturning,butI'm sureyouhavethehangof everything bynow."

I close their door and am alone again in the now familiar vestibule. I wait for the elevator and listen to

Grayer scream. I feelasthoughthewholeworldisstickingits tongueoutatme.

"Keep yournoseoutof it,NannyDrew."Myfatherslurpsthelastdropsof his wontonsoup. "You never

know. MaybethisCaitlin hadanotherjob linedup."

"I didn't reallyget thatsense..."

"You likethekid?"

"Minusthelocking-me-outpart. eah,okay."

"So, then, you're not marrying these people. You're just working there. hat?. ifteen hours a week?"

Thewaiter places aplateof fortunecookiesbetweenusandtakesthecheck.

THE NANNY DIARIES

"Twelve." I reachfor a cookie.

"Right. Sodon't getyourknickersin a twist."

"ButwhatdoI doaboutGrayer?"

"They're always a little slow to warm up at first," he says, speaking from eighteen years of experience

asanEnglishteacher. Hegrabs acookieandtakesmyhand. "Come on,let's walkandtalk.Sophiewon't be able to keep her legs crossed much longer." We weave out of the restaurant and head over to West EndAvenue.

I putmyarm throughhis asheslipshis handsintohis blazerpockets.

"Glinda-the-Good-Witchhim," hesays,chewinghis cookiethoughtfully.

"Caretoelaborate?"

Heshootsme a look."I wasfinishingmycookie.Areyoupayingattention?"

"Yes."

"Because this is good stuff." 1 stand, waiting, with my arms crossed. "In essence, you are Glinda. You

are lightand clarity and fun. He is an inanimateobject, a toaster who happensto have a tonguehanging out. If he goes too far again.'m talking the door-locking routine, physical violence, or anything that putshimindanger. ABOOM!WickedWitchof theWest!Twopointfourseconds. ouswoopdown in front of his face and hiss that he must never do that again. ver. It is not okay. And then, before he canbataneyelash, backtoGlinda.You lethimknowhecanhavefeelings,butthatthereare boundaries.

And that you'll let him know when he has pushed too far. Trust me, he'll be relieved. Now, wait here while 1get theSophster."

He disappears into our lobby and I look up between the buildings to the orange sky above. Within minutes Sophie bursts through the front door, pulling the leash in his hand taut as she waggles over, smiling up at me as she always does. I crouch down, wrapping my arms around her neck, and burrow myheadinher brownandwhitefur.

"I'll walkher,Dad."I give him a hugandtaketheleash. "It'll begoodtobearoundsomeoneunderthree feetwho doesn't talkback."

"Andwhoonlysticksouther tongueforbiologicalnecessity!" hecalls after me.

I stand on the sidewalk outside Grayer's school on the following Monday. I'm ten minutes early, as per Mrs. X's strict instructions, so I flip through my Filofax and chart out the deadlines for my next two papers. A taxi comes to a screeching halt on the corner and I look up at the pandemonium of honking cars around it. Across the median a blond woman stands frozen under the shade of an awning. The cars move againandshe's gone.