troubletearingourselves
away from the blue goop." I notice some of it still clinging to her nylon jacket. "Alex, say hello to
Grayer,"shesaysin athickWestIndianaccent.
Afterproperintroductionswepushour chargesover toFifthAvenue. Like little oldmen inwheelchairs, theyrelaxbackintheirseats,lookaboutandoccasionallyconverse. "MyPowerRangerhas a subatomic machinegunandcancutyourPower Ranger's headoff."
Murnel and I are comparatively quiet. Despite the fact that we share the same job title, in her eyes I probably have more in common with Grayer, as there are at least fifteen years and a long subway ride fromtheBronxbetweenus.
"Howlongyoubeentakingcareof him?" Shenods downinthedirectionof Grayer's stroller.
"Amonth.Howaboutyou?"
"Oh, nearly three years now. My daughter looks after Alex's cousin, Benson, up on Seventy-second.
You knowBenson?"sheinquires.
"I don't thinkso.Isheis intheir class?"
"Benson's a girl." We bothlaugh."Andshegoestoschoolacross thepark.Howoldareyou?"
"Just turnedtwenty-one inAugust."I smile.
"Ooh, you're my son's age. I should introduce you. He's real smart, just opened his own diner out by
LaGuardia.You got aboyfriend?"
"Nope, haven't met one lately who isn't more trouble than he's worth," I say. She nods in agreement.
"Thatmust notbeaneasythingtodo. pen a restaurant,I mean."
"Well, he's a real hard worker. Gets it from his mother," she says proudly, bending over to pick up the
drainedjuiceboxAlexhas tossedintothestreet. "Mygrandson's hardworking,too,andhe's only seven.
He's doingrealwell inhisclasses."
"That's great."
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"My neighbor always says he's so good about doing his homework. he stays with him in the
afternoonstillmydaughtercangethome fromBenson,roundnine,usually."
"Nanny!I wantmorejuice!"
"Please,"I say, reachingintothestrollerbag.
"Please,"Grayermumbles asI passhim asecondjuicebox.
"Thankyou,"I correcthimandMurnelandI exchangesmiles.
I'm thelast of our crew towalkthroughAlex's front door. Thereis very little in this neighborhoodthatI
haven't seen, but I'm completely unpreparedfor the large strip of duct tape runningdown the middle of
thefronthall.
According to New York State law, if one spouse moves out the other can claim abandonment and will most likely get the apartment. Some of these places go for fifteen to twenty million, forcing years of bitter cohabitation while each spouse tries to wear down the other by, for example, bringing in their half-nakedexerciseinstructor/lover tolive.
"Okay, now you boys can play anywhere on that side," she says, gesturing to the left side of the
apartment.
"Nanny, why is there a stripe? I fix Grayer with a quick Look of Death as I unbuckle his stroller and
thenwait untilAlex isbehindme toraisemyfingertomylipsandpointtothetape.
"Alex's mommy anddaddyareplaying a game,"I whisper. "We'll talkaboutitathome."
"Mydad's notsharing,"Alexannounces.
"Now who wants grilled cheese?Alex, go show Grayer your new photongun,"Murnel says as theboys
run off. Sheturns towardthekitchen. "Makeyourself athome," shesays, rollingher eyes atthetape.
I wanderintotheliving room,whichis fauxLouisXIV meetsJackieCollins,with anice,wide stripeof
electrical tapedownthemiddletogiveit thatcertainjenesaisquoi. I sitdownonwhatI hope
is the Switzerland area of the couch and instantly recognize the work of Antonio. He's the assistant to
one of the most popular decorators and will, for a minor consideration, pop by frequently to "plump"
yourpillows. Heis,inessence, a professionalpillow plumper.
I trytoheavethetwenty-pound copyofTuscanHomes,thecurrentcoffeetablebookof choice,intomy
lap without bruising myself.After a few minutes of flipping through pictures of villas, I become aware
of a littlenoserestingonthearmof thecouch."Hey,"I quietlyacknowledgethenose.
"Hey," he replies, coming around the couch to slump face-first onto the cushion next to me, his arms
outstretched.
"What's thestory?" I ask, lookingdownathis back,sosmall againstthewide blackvelvet stripes.
"I wassupposedtobringmytoys."
"Huh."
He climbs up into my lap, snuggling under Tuscan Homes, and helps me turn pages. I feel the softness of his hair under my chin and give his ankle a gentle squeeze. I'm not feeling incredibly motivated to getthis playdatebackontrack.
"Lunch!" we hear called from behind us. "What are you all doing in there? Alex!" Murnel calls off towardhis room. We standup.
"I forgottobringmytoys," Grayer offers. Murnelputsherhandsonherhips.
"That boy. Come on, Grayer, we'll get this straightened out." Grayer and I follow her past the kitchen where something is buzzing loudly. "Hold on, hold on," she says with a sigh. She goes directly to the intercom, asmall boxabove atrayladenwith grilled-cheesesandwichesandslicedfruit.
Shepressesthebutton. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Hasthemotherfuckercalled?" awoman's voice cracklesoutof thewall.
"No,ma'am."
"Goddammit! EversincehefrozemyfuckingcardsI'm supposed
THE NANNY DIARIES
to get a fucking check. How hard is that? I mean, how am I supposed to feed Alex? Fucker. Did you pickup myLaMer?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Murnel picks up the tray and we follow her silently down toAlex's room. I am the last one in. Half the room is completely bare, a line of model cars down the middle serving as impromptu duct tape, and Alex, shirtless and shoeless, paces in front of a stockpile of all his earthly possessions. He halts and looksupatus.
"I toldthefuckerhehastobringhis owntoys."
Nanny,
Please call the caterers and double-check what kind of utensils and linens they. l be bringing forMrXparty. Pleaseseethattheydropoff all thelinensinadvancesoConniecanrewashthem.
Grayer has his St David. interview today, after which I. l be running to a meeting with the florsi. SoMrXwilldrivebyanddropGrayerofftoyouatprecisely1:45ontheNorth-Westcornerof Ninety-fifthandPark.
Please be sure to be standing as close to the curb as possible so that the driver can see you. Please get there by 1:30 just in case they. e early. I. sure this goes without saying, but Mr X shouldnot havetogetoutof the car.
In themeantime, I. l needyoutostartassemblying thefollowingitems forthegiftbags.
Exceptforthechampagne,youshouldbeabletofindmost of theseatGraciousHome.
AnnickGoutalSoap
Piper Heidsieck,small bottle
Morroccoleathtertravelpictureframe,redorgreen
MontBlanc pen?small
LAVENDARWATER
Seeyouat6!
I reread the note, wondering if I'm supposed to pull out my magic decoder ring to figure out how many
of eachitemshewantsmetobuy.
She doesn't answer her cell, so I decide to call Mr. X's office after getting his number off the phone list
postedinsidethepantrydoor.
"What?" heanswers after onering.
"Urn, Mr. X,it's Nanny?
"Who?Howdidyougetthis number?"
"Nanny. I lookafter Grayer?
"Who?"
Unsure how to clarify without seeming impertinent, I barrel on. "Your wife wants me to pick up the
stuffforthegiftbaskets fortheparty?
"Whatparty?Whatthehellareyoutalkingabout?Whoisthis?"
"Onthetwenty-eighth? For theChicagopeople?"
"Mywife toldyoutocall me?" Hesoundsangry.
"No.I justneededtoknowhowmanypeoplearecoming andI couldn't?
"Oh,forcrissake."
Myearfillswith dial tone.
Right.
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I walk over to Third, trying to figure out how many of each thing I'
m I supposed to buy, as if it were a
logic puzzle. It's a sit-down dinner, so it ) can't be a ton of people, but it must be more than, say, eight, or so, if| she's having caterers and renting tables. I think she's renting three tables j and they probably seatsix or eight each, so that'll be eighteen or twenty-1 four $? either I show up empty-handed tonight or I pick a number. I
Twelve.
I stoP *nfrontof theliquorstore. Twelve. Thatfeelsright.
I lu^ tt16 twelve bottles of Piper Heidsieckto GraciousHome, a -1 housewa?es store, whose twoinitial
branches are bizarrely right across I Third A^611116 fr. each other. They carry everything from luxury: items atluxuryprices toeveryday householditems atluxury prices. 1All so a woman canwalk in, buy a ten-dollar bottle of cleanser, and 1 walk out with a cute shopping bag, feeling as if she's had somefun.
I staft pulling out picture frames and clearing out all their soap, but ?? I have nO idea what or where lavenderwateris. I lookdownatthelist.
.Like theotherwomen I've workedfor,I'm
sure she used all caps without thinking, threw the underline in as an afterthought' but, to me, she's screaming. It's as if, suddenly,her life de-pends on LAVENDERWATER or MILK or EDAMAME. I'm tempted to put mV hands up to my ears as their heads rise out of the notepaper, like something from Terminator2, screaming, "CLORQXfI f /.'/.'"
I cofnrnence combing the shelves in pursuit of lavender water and find that Caswell-Massey only makes freesia water, but she definitely wanted lavender. Crabtree and Evelyn have lavender drawer liners, but that's clearly not it. Roger and Gallet make a lavendef soaP an^ Rigaud, I'm informed, "doesn't do lavender."Then finally, on the very bottom shelf of another wall, with Grayer scheduled to drop and roll out of the town car in exactly five minutes, I see The Thymes Limited Lavender Home FragranceMist,Parfum d'Ambiance.Thishas gottobeit; it's the
onlywatery-type lavenderythinghere. I'll take it. Makethattwelve.
Nanny, I. not sure where I gave you the impression that it was appropriate for you to bother my husband. I spoke with him and we. e setting you up with a cell phone, so the net time you. e in doubt we. appreciateitif youjustcall me. JustineatMrX. officewillgiveyouthecorrectheadcount. Butitwilldefinitelybecloserto thirtythantwelve. Also, please find a moment today to exchange whatever you bought yesterday for Lavender LinenWaterbyL. ccitane. (We onlyneedonebottleasit. a cleaningtool,not a partyfavor)
"Hi,Mom?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm talkingtoyouon acellphone. Know why?"
"'Causeyou're oneof themnow?"
"No. Because I'm so not one of them I can't be trusted to perform even the simplest task, say, pick out
lavenderwater."
"Lavender what?"
"You pouritinyour ironanditmakesyourrentedtableclothssmell likethesouthof France."
"Useful."
"AndI am beingmadetofeelincompetentover thiswh?"
"Bud?"
"Yeah?"
"Nocomplaining fromthecute-girl-with-her-own-cell-phone."
"Fiiine."
THE NANNY DIARIES
"Love ya. Bye."
The girl with her own cell phone calls her best friend, Sarah, at Wesleyan. "Hi, you've reached Sarah,
impressme. Beep?
"Hey,it's me.Atthis verymoment 1 am walking downthestreet andtalkingtoyou.Just like1 couldon
a train, a boat, or even from the makeup floor at Barneys, because ... 1 got a cell phone. She gave me a
cellphone!See,that's not aperkyouget as a professor's assistant. Bye!"
ThenI ringGrandma. "SorryI'm notheretochat,buttellmesomethingfabulousanyway. Beep?
"Hi, Gran, c'est moi. I'm out on the street talking to you on mybrand-new cell phone. Now all I need is
a Donna Karan bikini and we can hit the Hamptons. Woohoo! Talk to you later! Bye!" And then home
tocheckmymessages. "Hello?" myroommate's voice answers. "Charlene?" I ask. "Yes?"
"Oh,I wasjustcalling tocheckmymessages.""You don't haveany."
"Oh,okay,thanks.Guesswhat?I'm onmynewcellphone!Shegaveme a cellphone!"
"Didshetellyouwhatkindof callingplanshegotyou?" Charleneasksflatly.
"No, why?" I scramble to check Mrs. X's notes. "Because nonplan calls cost seventy-five cents a
minute and cell phone bills are itemized, incoming and outgoing, so she'll know exactly who you've
beentalkingtoandwhatitcosther?
"Gottagobye?Andthusmybrief loveaffairwith mycellis broughtto ascreechinghalt.
Mrs. X starts ringing constantly with new requests for the dinner party. In rapid succession I buy the
wrong-coloredgift bagsforthepresents, thewrongribbontotiethebagsclosed,andthewrong
shade of lilac tissue paper to stuff them with. Then, in a stunning crescendo, I buy the wrong-sized
placecards.
Usually when she calls she refuses to talk to Grayer, despite his desperate pleadings from the stroller,
because "it would just confusehim."Andthenhe cries. Sometimes shecalls just totalk toGrayer. Then
I pushthestrollerashelistens earnestlytothecellphone,asif hewere getting astockreport.
Wednesdayafternoon:
Ring. ". . . theimpactonthecerebellum . . ." Ring. ". . . canbechartedherein . . ." Ring.
"Hello?" I whisper,crouchingdownwith myheadbeneaththedesk.
"Nanny?"
"Yes?"
"It's Mrs. X."
"Um, yeah,I'm inclass."
"Oh! Oh. Well, the thing is, Nanny, the paper hand towels you picked out for the guest bathroom aren't therightshadeof toile . . ."
Nanny,
I. l be coming by at three with the car to pick up Grayer for his portrait. Please bathe him, brush his teeth, and dress him in the outfit I. e lefton the bed, but be carefulnot to let him wrinkle it. Give yourself enough time to get him ready, but not so much that he has a chance to get messy. Maybeyoushouldstartat1:30.
Also, here are some handouts from last night. Parents League meeting:. ommy, Are You Listening? ?Communication and Your Preschooler.? I. e highlighted applicable passages ?let. discuss!
After theportrait we. lbegoingtoTiffany. topick out agift forGrayer. father.
One would think that the customer service mezzanine at Tiffany's would have enough chairs to accommodate all of us, their adoring public. However, soft lighting and fresh flowers do little to offset thefactthatit's morecrowdedinherethanJFKonChristmas Eve.
"O, you're making marks on the wall with your sneakers. Stop it," I say. We've been waiting for Mrs. X's name to be called so she can get the gold watch engraved that she'll be presenting to Mr. at the party. It's beenover half anhourandGrayer isreally startingtogetantsy.
She grabbed a seat when we came in, but suggested that I "keep an eye on Grayer," who, she insisted, should remain "where he'll be more comfortable". n the lounge chair that is his stroller. I tried standing against the wall for a while, but as soon as the blonde with the Fendi handbag plopped herself onthefloortostudyherTownandCountryI slid down.
Mrs. X has beenperma-attached to her cell phone, soI'm keepingthe aforementionedeye, and hand, on Grayer. The very same Grayer who has taken to using his saddle shoes to push off from the cream paisley wallpaperinordertoseehowfarbackhecanrollbeforehittingsomeone. "Nanny,letgooo."
"Grover, I've asked you three times to stop. Hey, let's play I Spy. I spy something green? I spy cheek implants.
He struggles to reach down to where myhand is now serving as a brake on the right stroller wheel. His face is getting red and I can see he is nearly ready to explode. She took him to pose for portraits after school let out and we've been stuck running errands for the party ever since. After being in school all morning,frozeninsmiles
all afternoon,andthenliterally strappedin,hecan't beblamedforhitting his limit.
"Come on, this oneis hard. I spysomethinggreen. Betchacan't findit." I tightenmygrip on thestroller wheel as he hurls himself over the front bar, then gets snapped back by the straps, his resolve to
free himself hardening. People standing near us shuffle away as much as the crowd will allow. I keep a smile on my face as my fingers get pinched into the carpet. Starting to feel a little like James Bond holding the ticking bomb, I assess potential escape routes to a less public venue for his impending tantrum. Five . . . four . . . three . . . two?
"I. WANT. TO. GET. OUT!" Hethrustshimself forward toemphasize eachword.
"XI Mrs. X, we'll see you now at desk eight."A girl my age (with whom, at this moment, I would trade positions inan absoluteheartbeat)motionsforMrs. Xto followher tothelongrow of mahoganydesks aroundthecorner.
"LETGO. I wanttoget out!I don't wanttoplay! I don't wantthestroller!"
Mrs. X pauses as she rounds the corner to place her right handover the speaker of her cell. She turns to me, beaming, and whispers as she points to Grayer. "Emoting. He's emoting to communicate his boundaries1."
"Right," I mouth back as I reach to loosen the stroller straps before he hurts himself. She disappears down the dark blue hall as I wheel our Emoting Grayer to the stairwell where he will be able to communicate thoseboundarieswhilehis father's newwatchgetstheattentionitdeserves.
Nanny,
The caterers will be setting up the tables this afternoon, so please keep Grayer out of their way. Theheadof theChicagoofficewill becomingbytodotheseatingarrangement.
I was wondering if you couldthrow something together for Grayer. dinner, sinceI won. be hometilleight. HelovesCoquillesSt. Jacques. AndIthinkwehavesomebeetsinthefridge. That shouldbesimple. Seeyouat 8.
Alsodon. forgettodohisflashcards.
Thanks abunch!
Coquillessaywhat?!Whateverhappenedtomacandcheesewith asideof broccoli?
In desperate search of a cookbook I pull open the teak cupboard doors, trying not to mark the trompe d'oeil walls, but there isn't a single cookbook to be found, not even the token joy of Cooking or Silver Palate.
She owns what I estimate, based on a Christmas stint at Williams-Sonoma, to be over $40,000 in appliances, yet everything continually looks as though it's just been unpacked. From the La Cornue Le Chateau custom color stove with electric and gas ovens that start at $15,000, to the full set of Bourgeat copper cookware for $1,912, everything is of the best quality. But the only appliance that looks broken in is the Capresso C3000 espresso machine that retails for $2,400.And, no, for that price, it does not findyou aman.I asked.
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