The Nanny Diaries
Page 15
THE NANNY
ARIES
"What?"
"I'm surehe'll call. I wouldn't bother to..."
"Okay.Well, thanks,bye."
I getthenumber frominformation,becauseI don't knowwhatelsetodo.
"Hello,thankyouforcallingAmericanAirlines. ThisisWendyspeaking.HowmayI help you?"
"Hello.Yes, I'm calling to find out if thereany delays on the flights from Chicagoto NewYork tonight,
or if apassengerXchangedhis flight?"
"I'm sorry,butI can't give outinformationonparticularpassengers."
"Well, canyoutell meifthereareanydelays?"
"Holdon, I'll check."Theotherlinebeeps.
"Hello,thisistheXes'residence. MayI askwho's callingplease?" I say.
"Who's this?" a malevoiceasks.
"Hi,it's Nanny?
"Who?"
"Nanny?
"Whatever. Listen,tellMrs. X myplaneis snowedinhereinChicago. I'll callher tomorrow."
"I'm sureshe'd liketotalkto?
"Can't now."Thelinegoesdead.
I click back.
"Hello,miss?Thanksforholding.Therearenodelays.All flightsarerunningonschedule."
"Thankyou,"I say, hangingup.Shit. Shit. Shit.
1 walk slowly through the living room and go stand outside the library, where Mrs. X and Grayer are
seatedonthenavyleathercouch,studying theweatherintheMidwest.
"So staytuned,becauseafter thebreakwe'll betalkingtoCindy
in Little Springs about what it's doing on her back porch," a perky voice says from the television. I feel
queasy.
"Nanny?" Sheroundsthedoor frame,nearlyknockingintome. "It justoccurredtome. all Justineand
getthenumberof his hotel.Theweather's fine. aybehis meetingranlate."
"Urn,actually Mr. Xjustcalledontheotherline,while I wasonholdwiththeairline, andthat's whathe
said.Hismeetingranlate. Sohesaidhe'll calltomorrownightand,uh?
Sheraisesherpalmuptosilenceme. "Whydidn't youcome getme?"
"He,um,hesaidhehadtogo?
"I see."Shepressesher lipstogether. "Andwhatelse didhesay?"
I can feel small beads of perspiration rolling down my sides. "He said, um, he was just going to spend
thenightthere."I castmyeyes downtoavoidhergaze.
Shetakes a stepcloser. "Nanny,I wantyou.To tellme. Exactly.Whathesaid."
Pleasedon't makeme dothis.
"Well?" Shewaitsforananswer.
"Hesaidhewassnowedinandhe'll call youtomorrow,"I sayquietly.
Sheshudders.
I glance up. She looks as if I've just slapped her and I return my eyes to the floor. She walks back into
the library, picks up the remote and turns off the television, silencing and darkening the room. She
remains immobile, silhouetted against the lights of Park Avenue, her red silk gown shimmering in the
somberblueroom, herhandstill grippingtheremote.
Grayer's wide eyes stare up at me in the darkness from where he sits, hands carefully crossed in his lap. "Come on, Grayer. Let's get readyforbed."I extendmyhandandhewriggles offthecouchandfollows me withoutprotest.
THE NANNY DIARIES
Heisuncharacteristicallyquietwhile webrushteethandputonpajamas. 1 readhim Mais^ GoestoBed
about alittle mousewith asimple mission.
"'Maisybrushedher teeth.'Did Grayerbrushhis teeth?"
"Yes."
"'Maisywashedherfaceandhands.'Did Grayerwash his face
andhands?"
"Yes." Andsoonuntilhe's yawning andhiseyes areopening
andclosing.
I stand to kiss him on the forehead and realize his hand is clenching my sweater. I gently uncurl his
fingers. "Goodnight,
Grover."
I walk tentatively out into the cold, gray light of the marble foyer. "Mrs. X?" 1 call out. "I'm leaving.
Okay?" Noanswer.
I walk down the long, dark hall to her bedroom, through the numerous hot pools of light illuminating thepaintings. Thedoor is open. "Mrs. X?" I enter her bedroomand can hearthesoundof muffledcrying coming from
behind the closed dressing-room door. "Um, Mrs. X? Grayer's asleep. Do you need anything?" Quiet.
"I'm just gonna go, okay?" I stand right up against the door and can hear her weeping quietly on the
other side. The image of her curled up on the floor in her beautiful gown makesme put myhands to my
chest.
"Nanny?" avoice,strainingtosoundcheerful,calls out. "Is
thatyou?"
"Yes." I pickupour emptywineglasses fromthebedsidetable,
carefultokeepthemfromclinking.
"Okay,yougoonahead.Seeyoutomorrow."
"Um, there's still somepizzaleft. Doyouwantme towarmitupforyou?"
"No,that's okay. Goodnight."
"Are yousure? 'Causeit's notrouble."
"No,that's reallyfine. Seeyoutomorrow."
161
"Okay, good night." I walk back down the long beige hall to the kitchen, place the glasses in the sink,
and put out a fruit plate, just in case. I decide to wait till I get downstairs to cancel their expired
reservation.
I go back into the hall, grab my coat and boots, and pull my paper heart out from Grayer's stroller
pocket. It sprinklestheblack-and-white tile with a lightdusting of red glitter. I kneeland press myhand
over thesparkles,quicklyliftingthemupandbrushingthemintomybackpack.
Herlowsobsgive wayto adeep,animal-like keeningasI gentlyclosethedoorbehindme.
They all felt that there was no sense in their living together, and that any group of people, who had met together by chance at an inn would have had more in common than they, the members of the Oblonsky family and their servants. The wife did not leave her own rooms and the husband stayed away from home all day. Thechildrenstrayed all over thehouse,notknowingwhattodowiththemselves.
. NNAKARENINA
CHAPTER SEVEN
eRegrettoInformYou
OnMondayatnoonI wait inthe schoolcourtyard, having watchedMrs. Butters pateachof her heavily
bundledstudentsontheheadandsendthemofftowaiting nannies,andstill noGrayer.
"Mrs. Butters?" I ask.
"Yes?"
"Was Grayer inschooltoday?"
"No."Shegrins atme.
"Okay,thanks,"I say.
"Sure."
"Great."
"Well, then .. ." Shenodsher head, indicatingthis productiveexchangeis over andtoddlesback intothe
building, hervelvet patchworkscarfblowingoutbehind her. I standfor a moment,unsureofwhattodo. I am justreachingformycellphonewhensuddenlyI am dealt astunningblowtothebackof myleg.
"Hi-yaa!"
I turn to see a small woman reproving a very large boy crouched in a menacing karate stance. "No,
Darwin,"shesays, "nochoppingthepeople."
"Where's Grayer?I wanttoplaywith his toys."
"I'm sorry,canI helpyou?" I say, rubbingmyleg.
She gently pushes the boy's fingers off her face while patiently replying, "I am Sima. This is Darwin.
We weresupposedtoplaywith Grayertoday."
"I wanttoseehis toys. NOW!" her chargescreamsupatmewith bothhandsin akaratestance.
"It's nice to meet you, Sima. I'm Nanny. I guess Grayer must havestayed home today,but I didn't know
hehad a playdate. Let mejustcallhis mother."I dial thenumber,butMrs. X's voicemail picksup andI click off. "Okay, well, let's go home, then!," I say, trying to be cheerful, but unsure of what we'll find once we get there. I help Sima with Darwin's bag and we trek throughtheslush to 721.1 takean instant dislike to Darwin, as I have spent all of three minutes with him and am already in a perpetual state of flinching. Sima, on theother hand, is completely soft, almost graceful, in her efforts to deflect Darwin's chops.
I stickmykeyinthedoorandopenit slowly,calling, "Hello?I'm herewith DarwinandSima!"
"Oh, my," Sima murmurs beside me as
we make eye contact. The stench of roses is overwhelming. While Mr. X failed to return from what is becoming the longest business trip on record, he has, in his absence,beensendingtwo dozenlong-stemmed rosesto721 Parkevery morningsinceValentine's Day. Mrs. X refuses to have them in her or Grayer's wing, but also can't seem to bring herself to throw them out. More than thirty vases fill the living room, dining room, and kitchen. Consequently, the air-conditioning is on, but thatonly seems to blowthe cloying stenchfrom one sideof theapartment to the other.
BasedonwhatI've piecedtogetherfromthefloristcards, Mr. X
THE NANNY DIARIES
promised to take his wife and child out to Connecticutthis past weekend for "family time," making the last two heavenly days the first weekend I've had completely off in the month since Valentine's. "GRAYER! GRAAYYRR!" Darwin bellows at the top of his lungs before ripping away from his coat andrunninginthedirectionofGrayer's room.
"Please take your coat off and have a seat, I'll just go check with Grayer's mom and let her know that we're home." I puthis bagdownnexttothebenchinthefronthallandslipmybootsoff.
"That's okay. I'll just keep my coat on, thank you." Her smile tells me that I don't need to explain the frigid temperature or the mortuary flowers. I attempt to weave my way around the vases toward Mrs. X's office,onlytofinditempty.
I follow the sound of the boys' hyena giggles to Grayer's room, where his bed is serving as a barricade inthewarbetween apajama-clad GrayerandDarwin. "Hi,Grover."
He's busy bombing Darwin with stuffed animals and looks up only briefly to acknowledgeme. "Nanny, I'm hungry. I wantbreakfastnow!"
"You meanlunch?Where's yourmom?" Hedives toavert aflyingstuffedfrog.
"I dunno.AndI meanbreakfast!" Huh.
I find Connie in Mr. X's office, turning Grayer's fort back into a couch. The room is the messiest I've seenanypart of the apartmentsince I've been here. Small plates with leftover pizza crusts linethe floor and every Disney video is strewn about, separate from its case. "Hey, Connie. How was your weekend?" I ask. "You're lookin' at it." She gestures to the mess. "I was here all weekend. Mr. X didn't show, and she don't want to be alone with Grayer. She made me come all the way back from the Bronx ateleven Fridaynight. 1 hadtotakemykids over tomysister's.
Wouldn't even pay for a taxi. She didn't say boo to that boy all weekend." She picks up a plate. "Last night1 finallyjusttoldher I hadtogohome, butshedidn't likeit."
"Oh,myGod,Connie,I'm sosorry.Thatsucks. Sheshould've calledme. couldatleasthavedonethe nights."
"What?Andletthelikesof youknowshecan't get herown husbandhome?"
"Whereis she?"
She points me toward the master bedroom. "Her Highnesscame in an hour ago and went straight to her
room."
I knock on the door. "Mrs. X?" I ask tentatively. I push it open and it takes a moment for my eyes to
adjust to the darkness. She is sitting on the ecru carpet, surrounded by shopping bags, her flannel
nightgownpeekingoutfromunderher furcoat.Theheavygrosgrainshadesaredrawn.
"Couldyou close the door?" She leans back against the bureau, breathing deeply into a wad of lavender
tissue paper pulled from one of the bags. She wipes her nose and looks up at the ceiling. Afraid that
anything thatI askwill bethewrongquestion,I wait forher tolead.
Shestaresoffintothedarknessandthenasks in a flatvoice, "Howwasyourweekend,Nanny?"
"Okay?
"We had a great weekend. It was ... fun. Connecticut was beautiful. We went sledding. You should've
seenGrayer andhis father. It wasadorable. Really, a greatweekend."
O-kaaay.
"Nanny,is thereany wayyou could come tomorrowmorning and just..." She seems exhausted. "Maybe
helpGrayer getofftoschool. He's justso ... Hewantedhis pinkpantsandI didn't havethestrength?
"I SHOTYOU!YOUSHOULDBEDEAD!"
"NO!YOUAREDEAD!DIE!DIE!"
THE NANNY DIARIES
Theboys' voicesgetlouder,asdoesthesoundofstuffedanimals beingpelteddownthehall.
"Nanny,takethemout. Just. .. takethemtothemuseumorsomething. 1 can't... I needto?
"DIE NOW!I SAID DIE!"
"Absolutely.We cantotallytakethemout. CanI getyouany?
"No.Please,justgo."Hervoice catchesandshegrabs moretissuefromherbags.
As I gingerly close the door behind me, Grayer jumps out at the far end of the long hall. His eyes go to
thedoorandthentome. Hehurls hisWinnie-the-Poohatmyheadwith a littletoomuchforce.
I take a quick breath. "All right, tough guy, let's get you dressed." I take his hand, leading him and
Winniebacktohis room.
"You havepajamason,stupidhead,"DarwinofferssupportivelyasI hustleGrayer towardthecloset.
In addition to putting on his current uniform of choice, the Collegiate sweatsuit he's been wearing
almost dailysinceChristmas, hepulls oneof hisfather's tiesoff a hookandloopsitaroundhis neck. "No, Grove, you can't wear that," I say. Darwin tries to grab it out of his hands. "No, Darwin, that's Grayer's tie."
"See? See?" Grayer says victoriously. "You said it. It's mine. Mytie. Mom said. She gave it to me." Not wanting to go back in her room to get the real story, I fix a quick knot, letting the tie dangle low beside his businesscard.
"Allright,fellas, shakea leg.We gotplacestobe, thingstodo!I have averyexcitingafternoonplanned,
but the first one with his coat on will be the first to find out about it!" The boys scramble past me to tackle the floral obstacle course. I grab an armful of the stuffed toys off the floor and toss them back ontothebedonmywayout.
Inthefronthall Sima isattempting tokeepDarwinfrom smoth!
1 67
eringGrayer,who isflattenedagainstthe door. "Hemustbreathe,Darwin."
"So, I was thinking, maybe Play Space?" I announce, realizing I still have my coat on as Darwin releasesGrayer.
"YEAH!"Theboys jump upanddownontopofeachother.
"Okay."Sima nods. "PlaySpacesoundsvery good."I handher Darwin's jacketandpullonmyboots.
While there are two Play Spaces, one on East Eighty-fifth and one on Broadway in the Nineties, we head up to the one on the East Side, as it has marginally cleaner sand. These indoor playgrounds are Manhattan's version of a fully equippedbasement recroom.And,likeeverything elseinthebig city, it's for rent. So, similar to motels with hourly rates, a twenty gets you and your charge a good two hours to exhausteachother ontheirequipment.
Sima standsonthesidewalkwith theboys whileI getthestrollersoutof thetrunkofthecab.
"IS NOT!"
"ISTOO!"
"CanI help you?" sheasks,evading Darwin's kick.
"No,"I grunt. "That's okay."I'm justgratefultobeoutofhis reach.
I maneuver the strollers to the sidewalk and we each grab a small hand. Probably to deter perverts from window-shopping, the Space is up on the second level and can only be reached by climbing an enormous, blue-carpeted staircase of child-size stairs that seems to stretch all the way up to wherever nannies go when they die. Grayer, undaunted, grabs the child-height railing and starts hauling himself up.
"Darwin, go up. Go up," Sima instructs. "Not down. Up." Darwin, completely disregarding her, plays some sort of leapfrog game that threatens to throw the methodical Grayer backward into a neck!breakingfall. I followclosely behind, draggingthecollapsedstrollers, myheelshangingofftheedgeof eachstair.
THE NANNY DIARIES
When we eventually get to the top I park the strollers in the Stroller Corral and prepare to check in. Becauseoftheinclementweathertheplaceis packedandwe geton alonglineof overbundledchildren,
exasperatednannies,andtheoccasionalmotherputting inherhourofquality time.
"Elizabeth,wecanmakewee-wee afterwe checkin.Pleasejustholdit!"
"Hello and welcome to Play Space! Who's checking in?" an overenthusiastic man in his mid-thirties asks frombehindthebrightredcounter.
"He is!" I say, pointing down at Grayer. The man looks confused. "We are,"
I say, passing him Mrs. X's membership card. He looks her up in the files and once I hand over twenty dollars we each get name tagsforourselves andonetoputonthestroller incaseitwantstomakefriends.
"Hello,mynameis Grayer. I'm with Nanny,"his reads.
"Hello, my name is Nanny. I'm with Grayer," mine reads. We are instructed to wear them prominently and I plaster mine directly over my left ventricle, while Grayer prefers to stick his on the edge of his shirt, just above the dangling card and next to his father's tie. After Sima and Darwin are similarly linked, the four of us go and put our coats in our designated cubbies, along with our boots. In the food area I fork over another twenty for our lunch. wo small peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and two juiceboxes.
"DIE! DIE!"
"KILL HIM INHISBLOODYHEAD!"
"All right, enough already!" The Wicked Witch has a headache. "If you two can't eat lunch like nice, peace-loving young gentlemen, Darwin and Sima will have to sit at another table." They manage to argue in dulcet tones for the remainder of the meal while Sima and I exchange wan smiles across the table. ShepicksatherbolognasandwichandI make afewattempts tobegin a conversation,butDarwin choosestheseopportunemomentstoflingGoldfishinher face.
Before we can release them into the pen we go wash hands. The Technicolor bathrooms all have little sinks, lowtoilets, andhigh latches. Grayer pees like a champ and then lets me push up his sleeves so he canwashhis hands.
"NO!I DON'TWANTTO!YOUDOIT!YOUPEE!"We canhearDarwininthenextbathroom.
I lean over and kiss Grayer on the top of his head. "Okay, G, let's hit the slopes," I say, as I pass him a papertowel sohecandryhis handsandwhateverelsegot sprayedbythesink.
"Daddysays thatinAspirin."
"Doeshe. Comeon." I throwout thetowelandextendmyhand,buthedoesn't move.
"When's mydaddytakingme toAspirin?" heasks.
"Oh, Grove ..." I crouch down. "I don't know, I'm, not sure if you are going skiing this year." He continuestolookatmequestion-ingly. "Haveyouaskedyourmom?"
He angles his body away from me, crossing his arms over the tie. "My mom says not to talk about him, sodon't. Don't talkabouthim."
"Grayer,comeon!" Darwinyells, kickingthedooratitsbase.
"Hey! Peoplehavetopeeouthere!"A woman startspoundingabovehim.
"Grover,ifyouhavequestions,it's always okayto?I say, standingandunlatchingthedoor.
"Don't talktome,"hesays,runningpast metojoinDarwinbythegate.