Lulupicks upthemetaltrayandwalksslowlytothedoor,star-ingintentlyatthepileofmeat.
"Wherearethekidseating?" Mrs. X askscasually.
"With us."
"Oh,ofcourse,"shesays,covering.
"I wantedtoask you afavor," Carolinesays, circlingtheislandtoputherhandonMrs. X's arm.
"Of course,anything."
"I have a friend from college coming out next week. She's getting divorced and moving back to New
York fromL.A. andI wonderifyouwouldn't mindtakingherunderyourwing abit." ,
"Not atall?
"It's just thatbeing up inWestchester I can't do as much to introduce her around as I'd like.Also, if you
know a goodrealestateagent,she's lookingfor a place."
"Well, there's athree-bedroominourbuildingthat's onthemarket."
"Thanks,butshe's lookingfor astudio.It's a horriblesituation?eventhoughher ex-husbandwastheone
c-h-e-a-t-i-n-g, none of the assets were in his name. He's incorporated or some crap, and she's gotten
nothing."
Mrs. X's eyes widen. "That'sterrible."
"So anythingyoucandotohelp, I'd reallyappreciate. I'll callyouwhenshegets here."
When we all get to the table, I'm charmed to see that the girls have made place cards by taking leaves
and writing our names on them in silver pen in three markedly different handwritings. Katie and Lulu
have asked to have me seated between them, while Mrs. X is placed between Grayer and Ellie and
spendsmuchofthemealcutting meatandansweringEllie's questionsabouther coat.
THE NANNY DIARIES
Ferdie comes over andstartswhimpering forscrapsatJack's feet.
"We had aretriever whenI was aboy," Mr. Xsays, spooningmustardontohis secondsteak.
"Ferdie's a local, actually," Caroline says. "One of the top breeders lives just down the road, if you're
thinkingofgetting a puppy?
"Thisis sucha fabuloushouse,"Mrs. Xsays, changingthesubjectassheplays with hersalad.
"It wasbuiltbyCaroline's grandfather," Jacksays.
"With hisown twohands,nonails, inthedriving rain,ifyoubelieve him,"shelaughs.
"You should see the overpriced beach shack mywife picked out. We'll be luckyif the roof doesn't blow
off," Mr. Xlaughs,corninhis teeth.
"So,Nanny,whereareyouinschool?"Jackturnstome.
"NYU. justgraduatedonFriday,actually."
"Congratulations!" Hesmiles atme, while buttering another ear of corn for Lulu. "So,haveyou figured
outyourplans fornextyear?"
"You're such a dad." Caroline laughs at him across the table. "You don't have to answer that, Nanny." Shestandsup. "Whowantspie?"
"ME!ME!" thelittleHornersandGrayer all shout.
As soon as the door swings behind her I stand to clear, but Jack stops me. "Come on," he mock--
whispers. "She's gone.Whatareyour plans?"
"I'm going to be the program associate of a children's organization in Brooklyn," I tell him in a stage
whisper.
"Honey!" heshouts. "It's okay! Shehas a plan!"
Carolinecomes backin,smiling, with a cartonoficecreamandninebowls.
"Jack,you're hopeless."Sheputsdownthecartonandthebowls. "Lulu,will youtakecoffeeorders?"
A gracious hostess, Carolineserves both pies, but there's little demand for thecold oneinthealuminum
dish.
"Mommy, I want a guinea pig," Grayer says sleepily from his car seat. He's out almost immediately and
theXesbeginrehashingtheevening, asI trytofind acomfortable waytoslumpbeneaththecanoe.
"Hewastellingme bythebarbecuethathe's managedtoexpandintotwelve newmarketsthis year? Mr.
Xis impressedwithJack's businessacumen.
"You know". heturns slightlytoward him, putting herhandonhis arm?I wasthinkingI couldgoback
with youonThursday. ecouldhave a romanticweekendinthecity."
He pulls his arm away as he makes a left turn. "I told you, it'll just be a lot of client entertaining. You'd
beboredoutof yourmind."Heplugsinhis cellphoneanddials withhis freehand.
Shepulls her Filofaxout andflipsthroughtheempty pages. "Nanny,one thingI wouldliketomention? shecalls backreprovingly.
"Yes," I say, startingtonodoff.
"I'm not sure if it's appropriate for you to monopolize the dinner conversation. Just something I'd like
youtobe alittle moreawareof fromnowon."
Darling, I. e gone over to the Sterns?for tea. I. l be back by five. Just a thought ?if you have to
go, why not see if you can come back to the island early Sunday morning, becauseh the Horners have
invitedusover forbrunch.
Have a greatmatch!
Love you.
~~~
Ihopeyourgolfgamewentwell. Incaseyou. e worried if I. l be lonely Caronlinehas offered to
keepmecompanywhile you. egone,sodon. worryaboutme. Althoughthey. equitebusy,but
I. sureother peoplewill thinkofme.
Seeyouattheclubatsix. Love you.
~~~
Darling,I didn. wanttowakeyoufromyournap?I. goingintotown.
I called the rental agent and she said that it. really pretty safe out here. She said she. be surprised if anything happened to Grayer or me while we. e here all by ourselves, so please don. spendyourtime inthecity worrying aboutus all thewayuphere.
~~~
Wednesday night, on the eve of Mr. X's departure, the three of us sit waiting in the Rover for Mrs. X. The original plan was to leave Grayer and myself home for the evening "to relax," while they had dinner at II Cognilio with the Longacres. But when they came home to change, Grayer screamed hysterically until Mr. X insistedthattheybringhimalong,sohewould,quote, "shutup."
After five straight days of running a virtual day-care center for all of the Xes' friends on at most five hoursof sleep anight,I starttonodoffassoonasI slumpdownunderthecanoe.
Mr. X jerks the cell phone away from his head. "We're going to lose the reservation. o see what's
takingher solong."I openthecardoorjustasMrs. Xteetersoutontothegravel onuncharacteris!
tically high heels, clad in a strapless black dress with a red cashmere wrap around her shivering
shoulders. Mr. Xbarelyglances atherbeforestartingthecar.
"Honey, what time do you want me to drive you to the airport tomorrow?" she asks, pulling on her seat
belt.
"Don't bother.'m takingthesixA.M. flight. I'll justcall acab."
"I wanttoflywithDaddy."Grayer,hungryand,ofcourse, napless,beginstosquirminhis carseat.
"Mrs. X?Um, you didn't get a chanceto see if you broughtanymosquito bite stuff,did you?" myvoice
echoesfrombeneaththecanoe.
"No,areyoustill beingbitten?I justdon't understand it. Noneof ushas anybites."
"Doyouthinkitmightbepossibleformetoruninto a drugstoreandgrabsomeAfterBite?"
"I reallydon't thinkwe havetime."Sheretouchesher lipstickintheyellowlightofthevisormirror.
I give my leg a good going-over through my pants. I am on fire. The itch is so bad it's keeping me
awakeonthealternatehours Grayeror Mr. X isn't snoring.I just.Wanttogo.To adrugstore.
After a tensetwenty-minutedrive we pullinto theparkinglot/ gift shopof thefamous restaurantwhose
annual signature T-shirt, featuring a rabbit in silhouette, is a bizarre, nationwide status symbol. Of courseI wantone. Mrs. X ushers us into the restaurant, a glorified bait-and-tackle shop that serves up twenty-five-dollar bowls ofpasta onsplinteredtables.
"Darling, how are you?" Mrs. X is accosted by a woman with large, blond hair that looks as if it could stand up to the fiercest Nan-tucket wind. "You're so dressy, my God, I feel like a bumpkin." She pulls herAquaScutumbarnjacketcloser aroundher.
Themen shakehandsandMrs. XintroducesGrayer. "Grayer,youremember Mrs. Longacre?"
THE NANNY DIARIES
Mrs. Longacre absentmindedly pats his head. "He's
getting so big. Honey, let's get our table." We are shown to a drafty corner table and handed a green booster seat, which Grayer tries to squeeze himself into.
"Mrs. X,I thinkit's toosmall."
"Nonsense."She looks over at him sitting sideways, strainingto fit his whole tushyin the seat. "Go see iftheyhave a phonebook."
I finally unearth three filthy Nantucket directories and slip them under his derriere, while the adults order cocktails. I pull crayons out of my bag and start telling Grayer a story, illustrating on the paper tableclothasI go.
"Well, of course, I love it up here, but I don't know how I'd do it without my fax," Mrs. Longacre says. "I don't know how people went anywhere before the fax and the cell phone, I really don't. I'm putting together a small dinner for a hundred people for the week we get back. You know, I planned Shelly's entire weddingfromherelastsummer."
"I know, I wish I'd thought of bringing ours from home," Mrs. X says, adjusting the wrap around her naked shoulders. "I'm waiting to hear from the board if they're letting me buy one of the studios on the secondfloor."
"Your buildinghasstudios?"
"Well, they were all maids' quarters originally and most are owned by people who have larger apartments in the building. I'd love to have someplace for a little private time, you know? I'm just so torn when Grayer's home. I want to be with him, but sometimes I need to get things done for my committee work."
"Oh, honey, cheers to that! Our eldest daughter just did the same thing. he has two kids and needed someplacewhereshecoulddoherown thing,butstill becloseenoughtobeinvolved. I thinkit's agreat idea."
The waitress comes over with the six drinks on a tray just as a small child goes whizzing by her at knee height,nearlyknockingthreehighballsontoMrs. X's head.
"Aaaan-drew... CometoMommmyyy."We hear aplaintive
voice whineasthehumantumbleweedfliesundertablesandbetweendiners.
Themattre d'lookspleadinglyattheoblivious parents,willing themtodisciplinetheirchild.
"Oh,honey,isn't thattheCliftons?" Mrs. Xexcusesherselftogoover andkiss cheeks.
"Nanny,drawme a chicken,"Grayer asks,while themen comparethisweek's golfscores.
"Isn't that great?" she says, sitting back down. "They're here with their son, so I toldAnne that Nanny
would take everyone out to the parking lot until the food comes." Everyone?Am I to lead Mrs. Clifton
in arousingrenditionof "Michael,RowYour BoatAshore" bytheDumpster?
I pull myself out of my seat and take Grayer and the whirling dervish out into the cold, dark, sandy
parking lot to play. They climb up and down a piece of oiled driftwood a few times and then Andrew
suggestsmakingdirt angels.
"Yeah, no. How about we wash hands before the food comes?" I try to steer them back inside toward
theladies'room.
"No!"Andrewshouts. "I'm a boy. I'm notusingsomegirl's toilet. Noway."
Mr. Cliftonroundsthecorner tothebathrooms. "I'll takethem," hesays tome, leadingtheboys intothe
bathroomandleavingme toenjoy a wholetwominutesintheladies'roombymyself.
I've just latched the door on the stall when I hear Mrs. X and Mrs. Longacre come in. Mrs. Longacre is
agreeing about something. "Absolutely! You can never be too cautious these days. Do you know Gina
Zuckerman? She has a boy about Grayer's age. arwin, I think. Apparently the woman they had
watching him, some South American, grabbed him by the arm. Gina caught it all on the Nan-nycam.
Sentthatwomanrightbacktowhateverthirdworldvillage shecrawledout of."
I trynottobreatheasMrs. Longacrepeesbesideme.
THE NANNY DIARIES
"We just set up our Nannycam a few weeks ago," Mrs. X says. "I haven't had time to review the tapes,
butitgives mepeaceof mindknowingI'm abletobevirtually righttherewith myson."
Shutup.Shutup!
"Don't youhavetogo?" Mrs. Longacreasks, comingoutof thestall.
"No,I'm justwashing myhands,"Mrs. Xsays fromthesink.
Grayer poundsonthebathroom door. "Nanny!"
Mrs. X opens the door. "Wha. rayer? What are you doing here?" I hear her leave and wait for Mrs.
Longacretofinishwashingher handsbeforeI unlatchthestall.
NANNYCAM?! NANNYCAM???.'.'.' What's next? Periodic drug tests? Strip searches? A metal
detectorintheirfronthall?Whoarethesepeople?
I splash my face with cold water and try, for the umpteenth time in nine months, to put my six-foot
employers outof mymindsoI canfocusontheneedsof thethree-footone.
I walk back to the table. Mrs. X is struggling to balance Grayer on the phone books. She looks up,
openly glaring at me. "Nanny, where have you been? I found Grayer unattended and I think it's
unacceptable?
An unprecedented level of rage shows on my face, momentarily silencing her. I readjust Grayer on his
phonebooks,cutup hischickenforhim, andtake aforkfulof mashedpotatoes.
"Well, then,Nanny,whydon't youtakethekids outsidetillwe're done?" sheasks sweetly.
And I spend the rest of the meal in the damp wind, feeding Grayer sandy chicken out of a Styrofoam
container. Pretty soon Andrew joins us, then three more. I play Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes. I
playMotherMay1.1playRedLight,GreenLight.
But there is only so much you can do with five children in a dark parking lot before you want to sell
them.
After putting Grayer to bed I ransack the kitchen for ammonia. While searching under the sink, I hear
the tap of Mrs. X's Manolos on the linoleum as she opens the cabinets above. She maneuvers
awkwardly aroundmeinsilence.
"Whatare youdoingunderthere?" Mr. Xcomes in,holdingthepaper.
"I'm looking for ammonia to take the sting out of my mosquito bites," I say, my head tucked between
thepipesand a bottleofbleachasI huntforthisemergencyGirl Scoutsolution.
"And I'm looking for the Scotch, so I can fix you a nightcap." Her feet swivel so she can face him and
herwrapslidesslowlytothefloor,landingin a scarlet-red heapbesideher goose-pimpled ankles.
"Ammonia?" heasks. "Huh."
Hisheavyfootstepsmove fromthelinoleumofthekitchentothewoodofthehallway.
"Honey?" shesays in a slightlyhusky toneas shefollows him to thedoor frame. "Whydon't we read in
bed?"
I heartherustleofhimhandingthepaperover to her. "I've gottoconfirmmyflightouttomorrow. I'll be
inwhenI'm done. Don'twait up.Good-bye, Nanny."I seeMrs. X's calfmusclesclench.
"Bye, have agoodflight," I say. GiveMs. Cmyregards.
I hearher followhim downthehall, leavingme alonetorummage underevery sinkinthehouse,but all
I findis a lotof Mr. CleanandsomePine-Sol.
An hour later,when I turn out the bathroomlight, I see Mr. X slowly pushing their bedroomdoor open,
a shaftoflightilluminatingthehallway.
"Darling,"I hearhersayquietly.Thedoorslidesclosed.
THE NANNY DIARIES
"Daddy,you're here!" Grayerjumps upinfrontofSesameStreetwhen Mr. X entersthelivingroomlate
thenextmorning.
"Hi,"I say, startled. "I thoughtyouwere?
"Hey,sport."Hecomes over tositonthecouch.
"Where's Mommy?" Grayer asks.
"Mommy's intheshower."His fathergrins. "Haveyouhadbreakfast?"
"I wantcereal,"hesays, skippingincircles aroundthecouch.
"Well, let's rustle you up some food. I could go for eggs and sausage."It isThursday, right? It's not still
Wednesday? Because I already scratched Wednesdayoff on the little calendar I've carved into the wall
bymybed.
Mrs. X saunters in wearing a bikini top, sarong, and miles of exposed gooseflesh. She's flushed and has
theauraofvictory abouther.
"Morning, Grayer. Morning, you." She languorously comes up b
ehind Mr. X, putting her hands on his shoulders and giving him a little massage. "Darling, would you mind going to pick up the paper?" He rollshis headbacktolookupather andshegrins, leaningdowntogive him a kiss.
"Sure." He comes around the couch, brushing his lips over her shoulder as he passes. Well, I've
officiallyfoundtheonlyscenariomore uncomfortablethanbeingaroundwhentheyfight. "Wouldyoumind if I wentwith Mr. X to thestore to get someAfter Bite?" I ask, trying tocapitalize on herpostcoital glow.
"No. I'd rather you stayed here to watch Grayer while I get ready." Mr. X grabs the keys from the table by the door and heads out. As we hear the car start she asks, "Grayer, how'd you like a baby brother or sister?"
"I want a baby brother! I want a baby brother!" He runs over to her, but she spatulas him and rebounds
himbacktome,like a fieldhockeyball.
The phone begins to ring as Mr. X pulls out of the driveway. Mrs. X takes his sweatshirt from the back
ofthecouchandpulls it
on over her head before picking up the heavy olive-green receiver. "Hello?" she stands, listening
expectantly. "Hello?" Sheadjustsher sarong. "Hello?" Shehangsup.
Sheeyes meacross theroom. "I hopeyouhaven't beengiving this phonenumber out."
"No,onlytomyparentsincaseof anemergency,"I say.
She's halfwayup thestairswhenthephoneringsagain,bringingher backdownintothelivingroom.
"Hello?" she asks a fourth time, sounding annoyed. "Oh, hi..." Her voice is strained. "No, he's not in ...
No,he decidednot toleavetoday,but I'll havehimcall youwhen hegets back ... Chenowith,right?I've
got it.AreyouinChicagoor NewYork?...Okay,bye."
NoTeuschertrufflesforyou,Ms. Chicago.
When Mr. X gets back I go into the kitchen to help him unload and pull out the usual assortment of
carcinogenicsugar-freeyogurts,tofudogs,andSnackWell's.
"Did anyone call?" he asks, pulling a single cheese pastry out of a small wax-paper bag for himself as
Mrs. X comes intothekitchen.
"Nope,"shesays. "Why,wereyouexpectingsomeone?"
"Nope."
Well, then,that's settled.
Ring.Ring.Ring.
The next afternoon as a plane flies low over the backyard, I wake to the shrill sound of the phone from inside the house. Again. Slapping at the mosquitoes feasting on my bare legs, I unpeel my flesh from the rubber slats of the dilapidated lawn chair and stand up to answer the ringing. But it abruptly stops. Again.
The Nanny Diaries Page 24