from the air conditioner." I smile at the image of our fourteen-year-old springer spaniel with her ears blowing out behind her like the Red Baron. "Move it, Soph. nd now she's sitting on all the research forthegrant."
I take a sip of beer. "How's thatcoming?"
"Ugh, it's toodepressing. ell me something cheerful." Since the Republicanstook office mymother's CoalitionforWomen's Sheltersgets evenlessmoneythanitusedto.
"I gotsomefunnymessagesfrommummies-in-need," I offer.
"I thought we discussed this." Her lawyer voice is back. "Nan, you take these jobs and within days you're up atthreeinthemorningworrying if thelittle princesshas tapdancingor a jamsessionwith the DalaiLama?
"Mom. Mommm. haven't eveninterviewedyet. Besides,I'm
notgoingtobeworkingasmanyhoursthisyear,becauseI havemythesis."
"Exactly!That's exactly it. You have your thesis, just like last yearyou hadyour internship and theyear before that you had your field study. I don't understand why you won't even consider an academic job. You shouldask yourthesisprofessor if youcanassist him. Oryoucouldworkintheresearchlibrary!"
"We have been over this a million times." I roll my eyes at Josh. "Those jobs are so competitive. r. Clarkson has a graduate student on full fellowship assisting him. Besides, they only pay six dollars an hour. efore taxes. Mom, nothing I do with my clothes on is going to pay this well until I get my degree."Joshshimmies andpulls offanimaginarybra.
My mother lucked out with a research assistant position that she held on to for all four years of her undergraduate work. However, that was when housing near Columbia cost as much as I am currently payingforutilities. "DoI havetogive youtheRealEstateTalk again,Mom?"
"Then, for the love of God, be a makeup girl at Bloomingdale's. Just punch in your time card, look pretty, smile, and get your pay-check." She can't imagine that one would ever wake at threeA.M. in a cold sweat, wondering if the shipment of oil-free toner had remembered to put on its Nighttime Pull-Ups.
"Mom, I enjoyworkingwith kids. Look,it's toohottoargue."
"Just promise me you'll think about it this time before you take a job. I don't want you graduating on Valium because some woman with more money than she knows what to do with left you her kid while sheranofftoCannes."
And I do think about it, while Josh and I listen to all the messages again trying to find the mother who soundsleastlikelytodojustthat.
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ThefollowingMondayonmywaytomeetMrs. XI make a quickstop atmyfavoritestationerystoreto stock up on Post-its. Today my Filofax only has two Post-its: a tiny pink one imploring me to "BUY MORE POST-ITS" and a green one reminding me that I have "Coffee, Mrs. X, 11:15." I pull off the pink one and toss it in the trash as I continue heading south to La Patisserie Gout du Mois, our appointed meeting place. As I cut across to Park I begin passing chic women in fall suits, all holding sheets of monogrammed stationery in their bejeweled hands. Each one walks in tandem with a shorter, dark-skinnedwoman,whonodsemphatically backatthem.
"Baa-llleeeet? Do-you-un-der-stand!" the woman next to me rudely shouts to her nodding companion aswewait forthelighttochange. "OnMondaysJosephinahasBaaaaaa-lleeeeeeet!"
I smile sympathetically at the uniformed woman to show solidarity. No bones about it, training just plainsucks.Anditsuckssignificantlyharder,dependingonwho you're workingfor.
Thereare essentially threetypes of nannygigs. TypeA, I provide "couple time" a few nights a weekfor people who work all day and parent most nights. Type B, I provide "sanity time" a few afternoons a weekto a woman who mothersmost days andnights. Type C,I'm broughtinasone of a cast of manyto collectively provide twenty-four/seven "me time" to a woman who neither works nor mothers.And her days remain a mysterytousall.
"Theagencysaidyoucancook.Canyou? Cook?" aPucci-cladmotherinterrogatesonthenextcorner.
As a working woman herself, the Type A mother will relate to me as a professional and treat me with respect. She knows I've arrived to do my job and, after a thorough tour, will hand me a comprehensive list of emergency numbers and skedaddle. This is the best transition a nanny can hope for. The child sobsfor,atmost,fifteenminutes,andbeforeyouknowitwe're bondingover Play-Doh.
TheType B mother may not work in an office, but she logs enough hours with her child to recognize it forthejob itisand,fol!
lowinganafternoonof hangingaroundtheapartmenttogether,her kidsare all minefortheseconddate.
"Nowthedrycleaner's number isonthereandthefloristandthecaterer."
"Whataboutthedoctorforthechildren?" theMexicanwoman nexttomeasks quietly.
"Oh. I'll getyouthatnextweek."
Suffice it to say that the quirk factor sharply increases as one moves along the spectrum from A to C. The only thing predictable about training with a Type C mother is that her pervasive insecurity forces everyone totakethelongestpossibleroutetogettinginsync.
I pushopentheheavyglassdoorof thepatisserieandseeMrs. Xalreadyseated,goingover her ownlist.
She stands, revealing a lavender knee-length skirt, which perfectly matches the cardigan tied around her shoulders. No longer in her youthful white shift, she looks older than she did in the park. Despite her girlish ponytail I'm guessing she's in her early forties. "Hi, Nanny, thanks so much for meeting me early. Wouldyoulikesomecoffee?"
"That sounds perfect, thank you," I say, taking a seat with my back to the wood-paneled wall and smoothingthedamasknapkinontomylap.
"Waiter,anothercafeau laitandcouldyoubringus abreadbasket?"
"Oh,youdon't needtodothat," I say.
"Oh, no, it's the best. That way you can pick what you want." The waiter brings over a Pierre Deux basketbrimming with breadsandlittlejarsof jam. I helpmyself to a brioche.
"They have the best pastry here," she says, taking a croissant. "Which reminds me, I prefer that Grayer
stayawayfromrefinedflour."
"Of course,"I mumble,mouthfull.
"Didyouhave aniceweekend?"
I quicklyswallow. "Sarah. y bestfriendfromChapin. ada
THE NANNY DIARIES
little farewell party last night before everyone goes back to school. Now it's just me and the California
people. hohaveoff till October! Tell Grayer togotoStanford,"I laugh.
Shesmiles.
"So,why'd youtransferfromBrown?" sheasks,pulling oneclawoffhercroissant.
"They had a stronger child development program at NYU," I reply, trying to tread lightly here, in case
I'm talkingto a steadfastBrownalum, choosingnottomentionthehumanexcrement intheloungenext
tomyroom, oranyother of themyriad of charminganecdotesI couldshare.
"I reallywantedtogotoBrown,"shesays.
"Oh?"
"But I won a scholarship to UConn." She drops the croissant to play with the diamond heart dangling
fromher necklace.
"That's great," 1 say, trying toimagine a time whenshewouldhaveneeded ascholarship todoanything.
"Well, I'm fromConnecticut,so..."
"Oh!Connecticut'sbeautiful,"I say.
She glances down at her plate. "Actually, it was New London so ... Well, after graduation I moved here
torunGagosian. heartgallery."Shesmiles again.
"Wow. hatmust havebeenamazing."
"It was a lot of fun," she says, nodding, "but you can't really do it when you have a child. t's a full-
time life,parties, trips, a lotof shmoozing, a lotof latenights?
A woman in dark Jackie O sunglasses accidentally bumps our table as she passes, causing the china
saucerstoteeterprecariouslyonthemarble.
"Binky?" Mrs. X asks,reachinguptotouchthewoman's arm asI steadythecups.
"Oh, my God. Hi, I didn't even see you there,"the woman says, lowering her dark glasses. Her eyes are
swollen anddamp fromcry!ing. "I'm sorryI couldn't come toGrayer's birthdayparty. Consuelasaidit wasfabulous."
"I've beenmeaningtocall," Mrs. Xsays. "Is thereanythingI cando?"
"Not unless you know a hit man
." She pulls a handkerchief out of her Tod's purse and blows her nose. "That lawyer Gina Zucker-man recommended couldn't help at all. It turns out all our assets are actually in Mark's company's name. He's getting the apartment, the yacht, the house in East Hampton. I'm getting four hundred thousand flat. hat's it." Mrs. X swallows and Binky continues tearfully. "And I have to supply complete receipts for every penny of child support spent. I mean, really.Am I supposed togetmyfacialsatBabyGap?"
"That's appalling."
"Then the judge had the nerve to tell me to go back to work! He has no idea what it means to be a mom."
"Noneof themdo,"Mrs. Xsays,tappingher listforemphasis,while I stareintentlyatmybrioche.
"If I had known he was going to go this far, I would have just turned a blind? Binky's voice breaks and she purses her glossy lips together to clear her throat. "Well, I've gotta run. onsuela has another 'appointment' for her hip replacement." She speaks with venom. "I swear, it's the third one this month. I'm really losing patience with her. Anyway, great to see you." She pushes her sunglasses back into placeand,with anair kiss, disappearsthroughthecrowdawaitingtables.
"Well..." Mrs. X stares after her, her face locked briefly into a grimace before returning her attention to me. "Well, let's just go over the week. I've typed this all up for you, so you can review it later. We'll walk over to school now, so Grayer can seeus together and get the sensethatI'm trusting you with him. That should relax him. He has a play date at one-thirty, so that'll give you just enough time to have lunchinthepark andyet not overwhelmhim. Then
THE NANNY DIARIES
tomorrow you and Caitlin can both spend the afternoon with him, so you can get a sense of his routine and he can see the authority being shared between you. I'd appreciate it if you didn't discuss the transitionwith heratthis point."
"Of course,"I say, trying toabsorb itall, thebrioches,thebriefing,Binky. "Thankyouforbreakfast."
"Oh, don't mention it." She stands, pulling a blue folder that says "Nanny" out of her Hermes bag and sliding it across the table. "I'm so glad Tuesdays and Thursdays fit into your class schedule. I think it'll be great for Grayer to have someone young and fun to play with.'m sure he gets tired of boring old Mom!"
"Grayer seemsgreat," I say, recallinghis giggles inthepark.
"Well, hehashis littlethings,likeanykid,I suppose."
I gather my bag, glancing down and noticing her lavender silk heels for the first time. "God, those are beautiful!AretheyPrada?" Iask, recognizingthesilver buckle.
"Oh, thank you." She turns her ankle. "Yes, they are. You really like them?" I nod. "You don't think they're too ... loud?"
"Oh,no,"I say, followingher outof thecafe.
"My best friend just had a baby and her feet went up a whole size. She let me pick out what I wanted, but I... I don't know." She glances down at her shoes in consternation as we wait for the light. "I guess I've justgottenusedtowearingflats."
"No,they're great.You shoulddefinitely keepthem."
Shesmiles, delighted,assheslidesonhersunglasses.
Mrs. Butters, Grayer's teacher, smiles at me and shakes my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you." She looks down adoringly. "You are going to love Grayer, he's a very special little boy." She pats her corduroy apron dress, which fits loosely over her puffed-sleeve blouse. With her round,dimpled cheeks andplump, dimpledhandsshelooksmuchlike afour-year-oldherself.
"Hi,Grayer!" I say, smilingdownatthetop of his blondhead.He's wearing a littlewhite oxfordbutton!down Poloshirt, untuckedon oneside, containingthe evidence of a morninghard atwork: finger paint, whatlookslikeglue,andonelonemacaroni. "Howwasschooltoday?"
"Grayer, you remember Nanny? You two are going to have lunch at the playground!" his mother prompts him.
Heslumpsagainsther legandglares atme. "Go away."
"Honey, we can have snack together, but Mommy has an appointment.You two are going to have such a goodtime!Nowhop inyourstroller andNannywill give yousnack."
As we approach the playground he and I both listen attentively to the long list of Grayer's Likes and Dislikes: "He loves the slide, but the monkey bars bore him. Don't let him pick anything up off the ground. elikes todothat.Andpleasekeephimawayfromthedrinkingfountainbytheclock."
"Urn, what should I do if he needs to use the bathroom? Where should he go?" I ask as we pass under thedustywoodenarchesof theSixty-sixth Streetplayground.
"Oh,anywhere."
I'm justabouttoaskfor a littleclarification onthepeeingthingwhenher cellphonerings.
"Okay, Mommy's gotta go," she says, snapping her Startac closed. Her departure is like the suicide drills from gym class. very time she gets just a few feet farther away, Grayer cries and she scurries back, admonishing, "Now, let's be a big boy." Only once Grayer is in complete hysterics does she look ather watchandwith a"NowMommy's goingtobelate" isgone.
We sit on the only empty bench in the shade, while he sniffles, and eat our sandwiches, which have some sortof vegetable spreadin themand, I think,unbologna.As he raises his sleeve towipe his nose I notice for the first time, dangling from beneath his untucked shirttails, what appears to be a business cardpinnedtohis beltloop.
I reachout. "Grayer,what'swith the?
THE NANNY DIARIES
"Hey!" He swats my hand away. "That's my card." It's dirty and bent and has clearly been around the block afew times,butI thinkI canmakeout Mr. X's nameinfadedtype.
"Whosecardis that,Grayer?"
"You know." He pounds his forehead, exasperated by my ignorance. "My card. Jeez. Push me on the
swings!"
By the time we're done eating and I've given him a few pushes it's time for us to walk over to his play
date. I wave as he runs into the apartment. "Okay, bye, Grayer! See you tomorrow!" He screeches to a
halt, turns around, sticks his tongue out at me and then runs off. "Okay, have fun!" I smile at the other
nannyasif tosay"Oh,that?That's justourtonguegame!"
Once I'm on the subway to school I pull out the blue folder, which has my pay envelope paper-clipped
inside.
MRS. X
721PARKAVENUE,APT. 9B
NEWYORK, N.Y., 10021
DearNanny,
Welcome! Theattachedis acopyofGrayer. scheduleofafter-schoolactivities. Caitlinwillshow
you theroutine, but I. sureyou. ebeentomostoftheseplacesbefore! Letmeknowifyouhave
anyquestions.
Thanks,Mrs. X
p.s. ?I. ealsoincludeda listof somepossiblefunactivities
p.p.s. I reallyprefer itif Grayer doesn. nap intheafternoons
I glanceatthescheduleandshe's right.'m aveteran of every activity onthelist. MONDAY 2-2:45: Music lesson, Diller Quaile, 95th Street between Park and Madison (Parents pay an
astronomical sum for this prestigious music school where four'jear'olds usually sit in stone-cold silence astheircaregivers singnurseryrhymes in a circle.) 5-5:45: Mommy & Me,92ndStreetY onLexington (Asthenameimplies,mothersareexpectedtogo.Nevertheless, half of the groupisnannies.)
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."
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