I squeeze some toothpaste onto a little pink toothbrush and hold it out to her after she stands up on the step stool, but she just crosses her arms in front of her chest and shakes her head.
“Brush your teeth.”
“Sing to me!”
“Ask me to do anything else—I don’t like to sing.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not. I’m not good at it.”
“Why not?”
“Because nobody’s perfect. I can’t be a good comedy actor, have great hair, a six-pack, and sing and dance. I’m not Zac Efron.”
“Can Uncle Zac come over?”
“No. Brush your teeth, or I will brush them for you.”
Her lips disappear inside her stubborn, adorable face. She looks like an angry Muppet.
“Summer. We all have to brush our teeth at least twice a day. Come on.”
She shakes her head slowly, maintaining eye contact with me, reminding me who’s boss.
I am so fucking proud of her for knowing what she wants and being so strong-willed, but I also want to rip this sink from the wall.
I open up her hand and place the toothbrush in it. “I…”
Her face lights up, and she lifts the toothbrush to her mouth, which is still closed.
“I am the very model of a modern Major General.”
She smiles, and I maneuver the toothbrush so it’s touching her teeth.
I can memorize all of my dialogue after reading a script twice, but I only know the first couple of lines to every song I’ve ever heard. Singing breaks my brain, but I swear, Margo can tell if someone hasn’t brushed their teeth from six thousand miles away and I’ll be damned if I’m going to look like a totally incompetent father today. Fuck you, Pirates of Penzance.
“I’ve information vegetable, animal, and mineral.”
She starts moving the toothbrush up and down.
“Keep brushing Summer Miller or you’re gonna be in big trouble. If not your teeth will all fall out and it will look just terrible. Go up and down and front and back and don’t forget the bottom ones. La-la-la-lah-bah-puh-buh-bah!”
“Enough!” she orders, shaking her head like a tiny Simon Cowell with a mouth full of foam. “Stop!”
“What? You don’t like that song?”
She spits into the sink and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “I don’t like your voice on that one.”
“You’ve heard me sing before, so why do you keep making me do it?”
“I thought you’d get better!”
I fill a little cup with water and hand it to her. “Such an optimist. Rinse.”
“Found the iPad!” Lucky calls out from the hallway, sounding like he’s been searching for hours.
“Thanks, buddy. Wipe your mouth with the towel, not the back of your hand,” I say to Summer as I walk out of the bathroom.
“Abby’s dad can sing!”
“Yeah, but Abby’s dad can’t act and he isn’t funny. Trust me. I’ve seen him on Saturday Night Live.” I take the iPad from Lucky. “Actually, you know what, I have to have a little chat with your mom first. Why don’t you guys wait for me in the family room.”
“Can we watch—”
“No!”
“Mean!” Summer stomps down the hall to the family room.
“Ohhhh no! You gotta sit in the family room for two minutes without watching TV! Your life is so hard!”
I initiate a Skype call with Margo as I carry the iPad back into the kitchen, sliding the door shut.
The video window opens up after two rings. “Finally. I can barely stay awake.”
“Welcome to my world.”
“Where are they?”
“In the family room. Just listen. I’ve found a nanny.”
She purses her lips, just like Summer did.
“Nico’s sister is staying with him. She just came back from France, where she was a nanny to two French kids while she was getting her master’s degree in…perfume design or something. She’s a perfumer. Her name’s Willa.”
“I forgot Nico had a sister.”
“So did I. But she’s here. I just met up with them this afternoon. She’s twenty-four, super nerdy and responsible and down-to-earth. She’s into natural stuff and aromatherapy, and she’s about to open up an Etsy store and she wants to make perfume for a living. She’s trained for it.”
I know my ex-wife so well—I can literally read her thoughts as she processes this information.
Gwyneth.
Goop.
Margo.
Signature scent.
Margo.
Synergy!
Marketing campaign.
Next level.
Margo Margo Margo.
“She sounds interesting. Let’s set up a time for me to Skype her. Wait—I’ll Skype Nico. I don’t want her to have my information in case it doesn’t work out. Make sure they’re together. Can we do it tomorrow?”
“I could literally be dead from lack of sleep tomorrow, but sure.”
“I’m quite sure that’s not physically possible.”
“It definitely feels possible.”
“Well, she’ll have to sign our nondisclosure agreement. What about her salary?”
“Oh shit. We didn’t discuss that.”
“Well, what did you discuss?”
She read my palm. She told me she used to have a crush on me. She alluded to dating a lot of European men. “Her excellent driving record, her fluency in French, her preference for kids over adults. You’ll like her. She’s a good vibes person.”
I would never say the words “good vibes person” out loud to anyone but Margo, and only when it involves getting Willa Todd to be my kids’ nanny.
She studies my face for a few seconds. “Okay. Well, I hope it works out. Did you talk to the kids about it yet?”
“No, I wanted to talk to you about it first.”
She smiles at that. “Okay. Take me to them. I need to see them, but I have to go to sleep.”
I take the iPad to the kids in the family room, tell Lucky that his mom’s going to explain time zones to him, and while they’re talking, I go back to the kitchen to text Willa.
When she programmed her information in my phone, she put it under Willow SweetPeaNotUrine Todd. I change it to Willa Todd before typing out: Yo.
Shit. Why’d I send that? Why am I texting like a creepy old dude?
WILLA: Hey. Why are you texting me like a creepy old dude?
ME: I hit send before finishing the sentence… YOU are the lucky winner of a Skype call with Margo Quincey. She’s excited to meet you. We’ll set up a call for you and her on Nico’s phone tomorrow. That okay?
Good save, Miller. Good save.
WILLA: Word!
ME: Why are you texting like a boring dork who’s trying to sound cool? Oh wait, never mind.
WILLA: Booyah.
ME: I really hope some of your ’80’s hip-hop awesomeness rubs off on my kids.
WILLA: Fo’ shizzle.
WILLA: I hope some of me rubs off on you too.
What?
Shit, is that flirting? Is she flirting? Now I can’t stop picturing her rubbing off on me.
Fuck, this is a bad idea.
WILLA: Um. It just occurred to me that you might have read that the wrong way.
WILLA: To be clear, I have no intention of rubbing off on you. Ever.
WILLA: Or on anyone else, for that matter.
WILLA: Do people even call it that here anymore? In France there’s a term for jerking off that literally means ‘to wobble oneself.’ Like you’re walking a tightrope and wobbling from side to side? Which always made me wonder if the French are wanking themselves off properly.
WILLA: I’m going to put my phone away now. Thanks for the job opportunity, sir. Byyye!
Fuck. She’s adorable.
This chemistry between us is a living thing that I can’t seem to control or predict. New and energetic and wobbly like a toddler. Or like a singl
e dad who’s walking a tightrope and wobbling from side to side.
Yeah. This is a bad idea.
SHANE MILLER SLEEP DIARY – Tuesday, 11 am
Went to bed at: Around nine thirty. No, really.
How long it took you to fall asleep: Not long. Took a shower after putting the kids to bed and…felt some relief.
How many times you woke up in the middle of the night: Once. And I never got back to sleep.
How refreshing your overall sleep was: It wasn’t great. But it wasn’t terrible. I used this lavender essential oil thing. It may have helped at first. But then I think it made things worse, because the smell just reminded me of…something.
Number of caffeinated beverages you consumed throughout the day: Zero. Really don’t see the point of abstaining, Dr. Shaw.
Number of alcoholic beverages you consumed throughout the day: I fucking wish.
How much time you spent exercising: One hour. Trainer just left. Fucking asshole. Sixty straight minutes of upper body work, circuits, and supersets, and I still have mental energy to burn. Physically, I’m tired. But I’ve got something on my mind, and it’s keeping my brain stimulated. Focused on one particular issue. All the time. This isn’t like me. It doesn’t make sense.
Your stress level before bedtime, on a scale from 1 to 5: 5-50.
Major cause of stress: Guilt.
Still a little anxiety about not working for a few months, but if I left the kids to work while Margo’s out of town, then I’d have even more guilt. And also, I’d never do that. So fuck my career.
Except no—don’t fuck my career. I need my career.
I should probably go for a run on the beach. Maybe if I run ten miles, I’ll be tired enough to sleep for an hour or so before I have to pick up the kids.
Maybe if I run twenty miles, I’ll be too tired to think about her.
WILLA TODD SCENT DIARY – Tuesday afternoon
I don’t need to burn any essential oils today because the yellow freesias are so powerfully fragrant. Sweet and spicy. It’s strange to me that this flower is supposed to symbolize innocence, because when I smell it now, all I can think about is how pretty someone’s penis probably is and how I really shouldn’t be thinking about how pretty it probably is, because as of tomorrow he will be my employer. And I can’t think about my employer’s penis. Especially while I’m responsible for the well-being of his five-year-old children.
Actually, I should breathe in some neroli essential oil to calm down. I have been impatiently waiting for my brother to get out of here to meet up with some record producer so I can finally take a shower and…get some relief.
I’ve already started thinking about fragrance notes for Margo. I can’t believe I am now on a first-name basis with Margo Quincey. I really can’t believe she wants me to design a natural, nontoxic signature scent for her. It would be my first commission in the US, so I guess I’m happy and grateful. I checked out her wellness website, and it did not make me nauseous. I may have even liked it. Obviously this woman wants a fragrance that represents who she wants to be. As opposed to who she is. Because if I were to design a fragrance that evokes who she really is, it would smell like a phony idiot who somehow managed to get the greatest guy on earth to marry her and then fell in love with some other entitled idiot like a bitch.
I’d call it Phony Idiot Bitch. Top note: Phony. Middle note: Idiot. Base note: Bitch.
Okay, the truth is she was nice. She said she checked out my Instagram and loved it (but said she won’t follow me yet “for obvious reasons.” No, please explain to me what the reasons are. Because you’re a fancy famous actress and you don’t want your fans to see you following a commoner on IG? No, I completely get it obviously. Hopefully you’ll also understand why I won’t be following you either).
Nico has only good things to say about her. And she seems like a good, caring mother. Aside from the whole cheating on the cutest dad on earth and leaving her kids for a three-month job in Poland thing. But—if it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t be going to live with her amazing ex-husband and beautiful children, so... Yay Margo. Guess I’ll make her smell good.
7
Willa
“Are you still on Sunset?”
I’m on speakerphone with Harley, who is breathing heavily because she’s on a treadmill at the gym. I think she’s been doing a walking pace this whole time—the heavy breathing is from staring at some male model who’s doing deadlifts in her eyeline. We live very different lives.
“Oh my God, yes. This street is endless. I’m actually in the Pacific Palisades now, though. Very different vibe from every other part of LA that I’ve been to so far.”
“It’s called boring rich people vibes. Make a legal U-turn ASAP and get back to the east side while you’re still cool enough for me to talk to.”
“You and I both know that I’ve never been cool enough for you to talk to.”
“True.”
“I think I might love it here. Oh, look, there’s a hardware store that’s not a Home Depot! All the buildings on this street are two floors at the most. It seems really chill, and everything’s clean and pretty!” I roll down my window. The air is cleaner here. I can’t see the ocean, but I can feel it. People are actually walking around in this village. Willingly. Happily.
“Oh God, I’m losing you.”
“Can you hear me now?”
“Yeah, I mean I’m losing you to the Westside, and I’ve only seen you once since you got here. This is tragic.”
“I will still hang out with you. Hang on, I have to turn here. I think I’m almost at his house. I think…I think that’s Tom Hanks coming out of a Starbucks.”
“Stellar. I bet he doesn’t look half as good in compression shorts as the guy doing squats twenty feet in front me. Okay, send me pictures of the house, I need to go flirt with Mr. Leg Day before he hits the showers.”
“I’m not going to send you pictures of the house. That would probably be in violation of the nondisclosure agreement I’ll be signing.”
“Ugh. Girlfriend needs to get over herself.”
“No comment. Have fun squatting on Mr. Leg Day.”
“See now, that’s the kind of fun you should be having in LA.”
I end the call and lift the inside of my wrist to my nostrils to inhale my homemade vanilla and amber perfume oil. I smell like a sexy, soulful bakery, and it makes me feel calm, feminine, and warm—not at all like the horny girl who pleasured herself in the shower yesterday while thinking about her poor, tired, hot-as-fuck new boss.
Now that I’m off the phone, my navigation app is telling me to turn onto a residential side street. This neighborhood is gorgeous. There are red and fuchsia bougainvillea bushes and small trees everywhere. The sky is a more vivid shade of blue here than it was downtown, and the wispy, windswept white clouds are so inviting. The houses aren’t as big and fancy as the ones I could see right off Sunset when I was driving in, but I like that. They’re built into the hills and designed to favor the views.
I love it here.
When the app tells me that my destination is on the right, I slow the truck down and my heart starts racing.
Stop it.
This is where I’m going to be living for three months?
Stop. It.
I can see the ocean from the driveway.
The rest of the property is gated with a privacy fence, but not in an obnoxious way. Through the horizontal slats I can see a young eucalyptus tree and ornamental grasses, Russian sage, and lavender plants. The house is modern, understated, friendly, eye-catching. Just like its owner.
I park the truck, leave my belongings inside of it, and skip to the gate. At this point, I might even be more excited to see the rest of the house than I am to see Shane Miller’s gorgeous, sexy face. It’s just after eleven, so the kids are still in school. I press the button on the intercom, running my fingers through my hair and trying to control my facial muscles so I look a little less like a lunatic who fantasized about
getting drilled by a former Disney Channel star and more like a responsible caregiver who really appreciates good architecture and landscaping.
I am all ready for a little joke-y home security banter, but the gate buzzes and clicks open. I push the gate and step inside the front yard. It is narrow, with landscaping on either side of a wide path that extends up a sloping hill to the street and down to the front door. The front door opens, and Shane Miller steps into view, breathing heavily and chugging a bottle of Gatorade. His brown hair, though sweaty and disheveled, still somehow looks like it has been styled that way. He’s wearing a tight tank top and gray sweat shorts, and his skin is flushed.
“Hey,” he says, a little breathless. “My trainer just left. Sorry I’m all sweaty. Welcome. Come on in.”
He allows me to step into the foyer past him, simultaneously giving me a glance of this magnificent home and a whiff of the most amazing man sweat I have ever inhaled.
Let me take this opportunity to nerd out and briefly discuss a chemical substance known as pheromones… Pheromones are like hormones that are secreted externally by an animal’s body—they subconsciously cause a physiological response and affect the behavior of other animals of the same species. It’s an incredibly effective form of chemical communication that is detected within the olfactory system—despite the fact that they may seem odorless. Ever wonder why ants follow an invisible trail to a tiny piece of food? Scent pheromones. Curious as to why your cat keeps rubbing his face against the leg of your coffee table and absolutely everything else in your house? Scent markings—he’s marking it with facial pheromones.
There is great debate among scientists as to whether or not humans actually produce pheromones, because it has not been definitively proven, but it is surmised that if humans do emit pheromones, one of the main ways they do it is through their sweat glands. This has led one university researcher to conduct a study of women’s brain responses to polyester pads that were placed under men’s armpits while the men were watching porn, as well as pads of men’s sweat when they were not sexually aroused. Guess what? The MRI scans revealed that the sexy sweat stimulated different parts of the women’s brains than the normal sweat did, and the scientist then suggested that women can subconsciously recognize the scent of a man who is attracted to her.
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