The Nanny Diaries

by Emma Mclaughlin

  morehours togountil amonthoffandmoneyinmypocket.

  " 'Night, James," I say to the doorman, just as he opens the door for H. H., rosy cheeked and carrying a

  FoodEmporiumbag.

  "Hey,there. Justgetoffwork?" heasks, smiling.

  "Yup." Pleasedon't letme havesteamedchardbetweenmyteeth.

  "Thatwassomefinewassailing.You trainhim?"

  "Impressed?" I askcarefully withmyupperlip curleddown.

  Enoughpatter,wheristhedate?

  "Listen," he says, loosening his scarf, "are you doing anything right now, 'cause I just have to run

  upstairs. Mymom's in aChristmas bakingfrenzyandweranoutof vanilla."

  Oh.Now?

  Okay,nowworksforme.

  "Yeah, great."As thenumbers go from one toeleven and back again I quickly run tothebeveled mirror

  andgroomlike a madwoman.I hopeI'm notboring.I hopehe's notboring.I trytoremember ifI shaved this morning. Ugh, I'll be so bummed if he's boring. And let's try not sleeping with him. Tonight. I'm applying afurtive swipeoflip glossastheelevatorapproaches "L."

  "Hey,haveyoueatenyet?" heasksasJamesopensthedoor forus.

  " 'Night, James," I call over my shoulder. "It depends on what you mean by eating. If you consider a

  fistful of Goldfishand a fewdrytortellini amealthenI'm stuffed."

  "Whatare youupfor?"

  "Well."I thinkfor amoment. "Theonlyplaces with openkitchensrightnowarecoffeeshopsandpizza.

  Takeyourpick."

  "Pizzasoundsgood.Isthatokay?"

  "Anything notinthisbuildingsoundsfabulous."

  "Here, sit on myjacket," he says as he closes the empty pizza box.TheMetropolitan Museum steps are

  coldandit's startingtoseep upthroughmyjeans.

  "Thanks."I tuckhis bluefleeceundermeandlookdownFifthAvenueatthetwinklingholidaylightsof

  theSlanhopeHotel. H. H. pullsthecontainerofBenandJerry's PhishFoodoutof a brownpaperbag.

  "So what's itlikeworkingontheninthfloor?"

  "Exhausting and weird." I look back at him. "That apartment has all the holiday warmth of a meat

  lockerandGrayer has a loneStyrofoamsnowman hanginginhis closet, becauseshewon't let himputit anywhereelse."

  "Yeah,she's always struckmeas alittle high-strung."

  THE NANNY DIARIES

  "You havenoidea,andwith theholidays it's likeworkingfor a drillsergeantwithADD?

  "Come on,itcan't bethatbad."Henudgesme with his knees.

  "Excuseme?"

  "I usedtobaby-sit inthebuilding.You eatsomefood,playsome

  games?

  "Oh, my God. That is not my job at all. 1 spend more time with this kid than anybody" I slide an inch

  awayfromhim onthestep.

  "Whataboutontheweekends?"

  "TheyhavesomebodyinConnecticut.They're only alonewith himforthedrive outandback. ndthey

  do thatatnightsohe's asleep!There's nocoming together.I thoughtmaybe they were just waiting for a

  holiday, but apparently not. Mrs. X is having Christmas by herself at Barneys, so she's been sending us

  all over town,withtherestofAmerica, mindyou,justtogethimoutofthehouse."

  "Butthere's somuchcoolstufftodowith akidthistime of year."

  "He's four. He slept through the Nutcracker, the Rockettes scared the shit out of him, and he developed

  some kind of weird heat rash while waiting for three hours to see Santa at Macy's. But mostly we just

  standinlineforthebathroom. Everywhere. Not acabtobe

  found,nota?

  "Soundslikeyouhavedefinitelyearnedsomeicecream."He

  handsme a spoon.

  1 haveto laugh. "I'm sorry,you're thefirst grown-up without shoppingbags thatI've talkedto in a good

  forty-eight hours. I'm just a little Christmased outatthemoment."

  "Oh, don't say that. This is such an awesome time of year to be living in the city, all the lights and the

  people." He gestures to the sparkling Christmas decorations on FifthAvenue. "It makes you appreciate thatwe're luckyenoughtolivehereyearround." I digintothecarton, tracing a swirl ofcaramel. "You're right. Upuntil twoweeksagoI wouldhavesaid

  itwasmyfavoritetime ofyear."We pass thePhishFoodbackandforthandlookover atthe

  wreathsintheStanhope's windowsandthelittlewhite bulbsburningontheawning.

  "You seemlike a holidaykindofgirl."

  I blush. "Well,ArborDayisreallywhenI go all out."

  Helaughs.Oh,sweetGod,youarehot.

  Heleansin. "So,doyoustill thinkI'm anasshole?"

  "I never saidyouwereanasshole."I smile back.

  "Just anassholebyassociation."

  "Well..."AAAAAAHHH!!!!HE'S KISSINGME!!!!!

  "Hi,"hesays softly,his facestill almost touchingmine.

  "Hi."

  "Canwe pleasestartover andputDorrian's really,reallyfarbehindus?"

  I smile. "Hi,I'm Nan..."

  "Nanny?Nanny!"

  "Right.What?"

  "Your turn. It's your turn." Poor G, this is the third time he's had to snap me back from the steps of the

  Metwheremybrainhas takenuppermanent residence.

  I move mygingerbreadmanfromanorangesquareto ayellow square. "Okay,Grove,butthisisthelast

  gameandthenwe'vegottotryonthoseclothes." ^

  "Oh,man."

  "Come on, it'll befun.You cando a little fashionshowforme."Thebedis piledwith Grayer's wardrobe

  from last summer and we need to figure out what, if anything, still fits so that he can be properly outfitted forhis vacation.I knowputtingtogether a resortwardrobeis hardlyhow hewantstospendhis lastafternoonwithme,butordersare orders.

  Afterwe putawaythegame I kneelonthefloorandhelp himin THE NANNY DIARIES andoutandinandoutofshorts,shirts,swimming trunks,andtheworld's tiniest navyblueblazer. "Owww!Toosmall! It hurts!" His arm chubhas beencompressedlike a hot-dog bunwith a rubberband

  aroundthemiddlebythelittle whiteLacoste tee.

  "Okay, okay, I'm getting you out, be patient." I peel him out of the shirt and hold up a stiff Brooks

  Brothersoxford.

  "I don't like thatone so much,"he says, shakinghis head, then, slowly, "I think . . . it's ... too .. . small,"

  hesays intently.

  I look down at the buttons on the sleeve and the starched collar. "Yeah. I think you're right. ay too

  small. You probably shouldn't wear it anymore," I say conspiratorially, folding the offending item and

  puttingit ontherejectpile.

  "Nanny, I'm bored." He puts his hands on either side of my face. "No more shirts. Let's play Candy

  Land!"

  "Come on, just one more, G." I help him into the blazer. "Now walk down to the end of the room and

  back. et me see how gorgeous you are." He looks at me like I'm crazy, but starts to walk away,

  lookingbackover his shoulderevery fewstepstomakesureI'mnot

  up tosomething.

  "Work it, baby!" I shout when he reaches the wall. He turns and eyes me warily until I whip out an

  imaginary camera and pretend to take pictures. "Come on, baby! You're fabulous. Show it off!" He

  takes his jazz-hands pose at the end of the carpet. "Woohoo!" I catcall as if Marcus Shenkenberg had

  justlosthis towel. Hegiggles,throwinghimself intotheshowaswemakepouty

  lipsateachother.

  "You're gorgeous, dahling," I say, leaning down to take off the blazer and kissing the air by both his

  cheeks.

  "You'll bebackreallysoon,right,Nanny?" Heshakeshis arm

  free. "Tomorrow?"

  "Here, let's look at the calendar again so you can see how fast it's going to go and you'll be in the

  Bahamas?

  1 19

  "Litferrr Cay,"hecorrects.

  "Right."We leanintolookattheNannyCalendarI made. "AndthenAspen,wherethere'll berealsnow

  andyoucansledandmakesnowangelsand asnowman.You're goingtohaveanawesome time."

  "Hello?" I hear Mrs. X call out. Grayer runs to
the front hall and I take a moment to fold the last little

  shirtandthenfollow him.

  "Howwasyour afternoon?" sheasks brightly.

  "Grayer was a very goodboy. etriedoneverything," I say, leaningagainst thedoorway. "The pile on

  thebedisthestuffthatfits."

  "Oh,excellent!Thankyousomuch."

  Grayer is bouncing up and down in front of Mrs. X and pulling on her mink. "Come see my show!

  Comeinmyroom!"

  "Grayer,whathavewediscussed?Haveyouwashedyour hands?" sheasks,evadinghis grasp.

  "No,"heanswers.

  "Well, then, should you be touching Mommy's coat? Now, if you sit on the bench I have a surprise for

  youfromDaddy."Sherummages throughhershoppingbagsasGrayerslumps ontothepaisleycushion.

  Shepullsout abrightbluesweatsuit.

  "Remember how you're going to big boy's school next year? Well, Daddy just loves Collegiate." She flips the sweatshirt around to reveal the orange lettering. I step forward to help Grayer pull it over his head.Shestandsbackwhile I rollthesleevesup intolittle doughnutsathis wrists.

  "Oh, you are going to make your daddy so happy." Grayer, delighted, whips out his jazz hands and starts |g pose as he had done in the bedroom. "Honey, don't fling your arms about." She looks down at himinconsternation. "It's weird."

  Grayer lookstome foranexplanation.

  Mrs. X followshis gaze. "Grayer,it's time tosaygood-bye toNanny."

  "I don't wantto."Hestandsinfrontofthedoorandcrosses his arms.

  THE NANNY

  I kneeldown. "It's onlyfor afewweeks,G."

  "Noooooo!Don't go.You said we could play Candy Land.Nanny, you promised." The tears startto roll

  downhis cheeks.

  "Hey, you want your present now?" I ask. 1 go in the closet, take a deep breath, put on a big smile, and

  pullouttheshoppingbagI broughtwithme.

  "Thisis foryou,MerryChristmas!" I say, handingMrs. XtheBergdorf'sbox.

  "You shouldn'thave,"shesays, settingitdownonthetable. "Oh,yes, wehavesomethingforyou,too."

  I looksurprised. "Oh,no."

  "Grayer, go get Nanny's present." He runs off. I pull the other box out of the bag. "And this is for

  Grayer."

  "Nanny, here's your present, Nanny. Merry Christmas, Nanny!" He comes running in holding a Saks

  boxandthrustsitatme.

  "Oh,thankyou!"

  "Where's mine?!Where's mine?!" Hejumpsup anddown.

  "Your mom has it and you can open it after I leave." 1 quickly pull on my coat as Mrs. X is already

  holdingtheelevator.

  "MerryChristmas," shesaysasI getin.

  "Bye, Nanny!" hesays,wavingwildly,like amarionette.

  "Bye, Grayer,MerryChristmas!"

  I can't even wait till I get outside. I'm imagining Paris and handbagsand manytrips to Cambridge. First

  I openthegifttag.

  J Lonjui/,l

  JCcA^" I ripthewrappingpaper,pulltheboxapart,andstartgrabbingfistfuls oftissue.

  There's no envelope. Oh, my God, there's no envelope! I shake the box upside down. Tons of tissue

  comes cluttering out andthensomething blackand furry falls totheelevator floor with a thud.I drop to

  myknees,like adogover a bone. I reachdown, pushingthe

  messI've madeasidetouncover mytreasureand .it's earmuffs. Onlyearmuffs.

  Justearmuffs.

  Earmuffs!

  EARMUFFS!!

  .and ... and

  Mamnvy felt that she owned the O'Haras, body and soul, that their secrets were her secrets; and even a

  hintof mysterywasenoughtosetheruponthetrailsorecklesslyas a bloodhound.

  . ONEWITHTHEWIND

  CHAPTER FIVE

  owntime

  "Grandma's been looking all over for you so we can cut the cake," I say, stepping into my

  grandmother's dressing room, where myfather has foundrespite from the joint NewYear's Eve/Fiftieth

  BirthdayPartysheinsistedonthrowingforthe "onesonGodblessedher with." "Quick, close the door! I'm not ready yet. oo many of those people out there." Despite the many mingling artists and writers, the majority of attendees this evening are donning tuxedos, which is the onething,asmyfatherwill emphatically informyou,hedoes not wear. For anyone. Ever. "Whoare we, the goddamn Kennedys?" has been his thoughtful retort whenever my grandmother attempted to involve him in theplanning of this black-tie affair. I, on the other hand, never have to be asked twice to step into a gown and am all too eager for the rare occasions on which I can hang up my sweatpantsand headoutlike alady.

  "Not to be too much of an enabler, but I come bearing gifts," I say, handing him a glass of champagne. Hesmiles and takes a longgulp, placing theglass down ontop of her mirrored dressing tablebesidehis propped-up feet. He drops the Times crossword he's been working on, motioning for me to sit. I plop ontotheplushcreamcar!

  pet in a pile of black chiffon and take a sip out of my own flute, while muffled laughter and big band

  musicwaftsin.

  "Dad,youreallyshouldcome out. t's notsobad.Thatwriterguyishere,theonefromChina.Andhe's

  noteven wearing atie?youcouldhangout withhim."

  Hetakesoffhis glasses. "I'd ratherspendtime with mydaughter.How's itgoing,pixie?Feeling better?"

  A fresh wave of rage washes over me, breaking the celebratory mood I've enjoyed for most of the evening. "Ugh, that woman!" I slump forward. "I worked, like, eighty hours a week for the past month and for what? I'll tell you for what. Earmuffs!" I sigh exasper-atedly, looking out through my hair to wheretherowofblackkitten heels alongthewalltransitions into a colorfularrayofChineseslippers.

  "Ah,yes. It's been a wholefifteenminutessincewehadthisconversation."

  "Whatconversation?" mymotherasks assheslipsinthedoorwith a plateofhors d'oeuvresinonehand andanopenbottle ofchampagneintheother.

  "I'll give you a clue," he says, wryly,while holding up his glass for a refill. "You wear them insteadof a hat."

  "God!Are we back on this again? Come on, Nan, it's NewYear's Eve! Whydon't you take a nightoff?" Shefallsbackonthechaise,tuckingherstockingfeetup underher,andhandshimtheplate.

  I sit up and reach for the bottle. "Mom, I can't! I can't let it go! She might as well have just spit in my fateandput a bowonmynose. Everyone knowsyouget a heftyChristmas bonus;it's justhowit's done. Whyelse wouldI have put insomuch extra time?Thebonus is for theextra, it's therecognition!Every stupidpersonthatworksforthemgotmoneyand a handbag!AndI got?

  "Earmuffs,"theychime inasIpour myself anotherglass.

  "You know what my problem is? I go out of my way to make it seem natural that I'm raising her son while she's atthemanicurist.

  THE NANNY DIARIES

  All the little stories I tell and the 'Sure, I'd be happy tos' make her feel like I live there. And then she forgetsthatI'm doing a job. he's totallyconvincedherself she's lettingme come over for a playdate!" I grab a bitof caviarfromDad's plate. "Whatdoyouthink,Mom?"

  "I think you've got to confront this woman and lay down the law or let it go already. Honestly, you should hear yourself, you've been talking about this for days. You're wasting a perfectly good party on her, and somebody in this family, other than your grandmother, should take advantage of the band out thereanddance."Shelookspointedlyatmydadashepopsthelastcrabpuffinhis

  mouth.

  "I wantto!I wanttolaydownthe law, butI don't even know

  wheretobegin."

  "What's to begin? Just tell her that this is not working for you and if she wants you to continue as Grayer's nannythen a fewthingsaregoingtochange."

  "Right," I say with a snort. "When she asks me how my vacation was I just launch into a diatribe? She wouldslap me."

  "Well, then you're really in business," Dad pipes in. "Because you can sue for assault and none of us will ever havetoworkagain."

  My mother, now fully involved, plows on. "Then you just smile warmly, put your arm around her and
r />   say, 'Gee,youmakeithardtoworkforyou.'Let herknowin a friendlywaythatthisisnotokay

  behavior."

  "Mooommmm! You havenoideawho I'm working for. Thereisnoputtingyour armaroundthis woman. She's theIceQueen."

  "All right. That's it. Throw her the mink," Mom commands. "It's RehearsalTime!" These rehearsals are the cornerstoneof myupbringingand have helpedme to practice everything from college interviews to breakingup with mysixth-grade boyfriend. Dadtosses me thestolethat's beenhangingnextto himand reachesover topourusanotherround.

  "Okay,you're Mrs. X,I'm you.Hitit."

  I clear my throat. "Welcome back, Nanny. Would you mind tak-ing my dirty underwear with you to Grayer's swimming class and scrubbing it while you're in the pool? Thanks so much, the chlorine just workswonders!" I pulltheminkup aroundmyshouldersandaffect afakesmile.

  My mother's voice is calm and rational. "I want to help you. I want to help Grayer. But I need some help from you, so that I can keep doing my job to the best of my abilities.And this means that we need totrytogethertomakesurethatI am workingthehoursuponwhichwebothagreed."

  "Oh,youworkhere?I thoughtwehadadoptedyou!" I raisemypinkytomymouthinmockalarm.

  "Well, while it would be an honor to be related to you, I am here to do a job, and if I'm going to be able to keep doing it then I know you'll be more conscious of respecting my boundaries from now on." Dad clapsloudly. I fallbackonthefloor.

  "That'll neverwork,"I groan.

  "Nan, this woman's not God! She's just a person. You need a mantra. You need to go in there like Lao!tzu ... Saynotosayyes. Sayitwithme!"

  "I say no to say yes. I say no to say yes," I murmur with her as I stare up at the floral wallpaper on the ceiling.

  Just as we hit a fever pitch, the door flies open and music floods the room. I roll my head to see my grandmother,cheeksflushedtomatchher layers ofredsatin,leaningagainstthedoorframe.

  "Darlings! Another masterpiece of a party and my son's hiding in the closet at his fiftieth, just like he did at his fifth. Come, dance with me." In a cloud of perfurrft, she sashays over to my father and kisses him on the cheek. "Come on, birthday boy, you can leave your tie and cummerbund here, but at least dance a mambowithyour motherbeforetheclockstrikestwelve!"

  Herolls his eyes atthe restof us, but thechampagne has worn him down.He pulls offhis tie andstands up.

  THE NANNY DIARIES

  "Andyou,lady."Shelooksdownonme sprawledatherfeet. "Bring theminkandlet's boogie."