by Melody Mayer
“Oh, I know you still want to teach me. On the street. Right?”
Billy laughed. “You are one of a kind. You know that, don't you?”
“I do,” Lydia answered solemnly. “I really do.”
“I need a car,” Lydia told Kiley. “Pronto.”
She stretched in her chaise longue by the side of the family pool at the country club, enjoying the hot sun on her face. Lying out by the pool in a white Ralph Lauren bikini dotted with pink polo ponies while Jimmy and Martina frolicked in the water was a part of her nanny job at which she truly excelled. (She'd discovered the bikini in a bag of clothing in the basement that had been destined for Goodwill Industries—Anya's handwriting was on the masking tape label. It was just so Anya to give away a limited edition Ralph Lauren bikini. The woman had the fashion sense of a tapir.) Figuring that Anya was already giving these clothes away, she felt safe putting it on.
At the moment, her cousins were playing a water basketball game that had been organized by Nanny and Me, as were Kiley's kids, Star and Moon. Fortunately, there were too many nannies, so Lydia and Kiley had oh-so-graciously volunteered to sit this one out.
“It's not that easy,” Kiley replied, reaching for the sunscreen. “First you have to pass a driver's test. Then you have to get enough money to buy the car.”
“Details, details,” Lydia proclaimed airily. She nodded her chin toward the pool. “Hey, check out our kids. They actually seem to be getting along.”
Kiley rubbed sunblock into her freckled arms. “Star and Moon play well with others. And now we're at the end of the positive attributes list.” Star's ballerina-lithe body was on full display in a bandeau bikini sprinkled with pink sequins. Moon thankfully wore a normal seven-year-old's baggy blue and green swimming trunks with a drawstring. Despite the vast alphabet of disorders his mom claimed Moon exhibited, he was splashing his sister playfully while she squealed in mock terror.
It was later the same day—Lydia had just filled Kiley in on her driving lesson with Billy on Santa Monica Boulevard, where, as she had predicted, she had done extremely well. It wasn't as if driving a car was an actual challenge. She peered at Kiley through the mock tortoiseshell J. Lo sunglasses the club had given all the nannies in their welcome baskets. “Wait, is that an actual new bathing suit?” she teased. “What happened to the ugly blue Speedo tank thing from Platinum Nanny?”
Kiley's new bathing suit was a baby blue one-piece with boy shorts (the better to rein in her butt, Kiley had declared) and a delicate halter top that slightly scooped to show her collarbones. The hand-tied halter fully displayed her back's creamy skin. It wasn't a Gottex original, Lydia decided, but it was a definite improvement.
“I was trying to cheer myself up,” Kiley confessed. “Honestly, Lydia, working for Evelyn is a miserable experience.”
“Times ten, by that look on your face,” Lydia pronounced. She rolled onto her left hip and peered at Kiley. “You look like a hunter who just missed a wild boar with his last blow dart.”
Kiley threw an arm over her forehead. “It's Tom.”
“Really.” Lydia conspiringly leaned closer. “Feel free to share.”
Kiley sighed. “I went back to the hotel with him. To his suite.”
“Uh-oh, I think I see where this is headed. The oh-so-hot Mr. Chappelle is oh-so-not between the sheets. Am I right?”
“Well, I wouldn't exactly know,” Kiley confessed, “because I didn't exactly go through with it.”
“Because?” Lydia prompted.
“Because I'm a wuss.” Kiley smacked the palm of her hand against her forehead. “What is wrong with me? Everything was perfect. He was perfect! And I … I chickened out. I kept thinking about Marym—you know, his gorgeous, perfect, supermodel girlfriend.”
“Past-tense girlfriend, right?”
“That's what I'm not sure about,” Kiley replied glumly. “I saw a photo of them together. Very together.”
Now this was getting interesting.
“So someone shot Tom and Marym having sex. Did you find it, or did he show it to you?”
Kiley threw her hand in the air. “Are you on drugs? Of course they weren't having sex in the picture.”
“But you just said—”
“They had their arms around each other; obviously a couple,” Kiley explained.
Lydia sat up and let this information settle for a moment. “So … you did not have sex with the boy of your dreams because you happened to see a photo of him with his arm around his former girlfriend? Have I got all the facts straight?”
“I know how stupid it sounds, believe me,” Kiley lamented. “But remember how I told you I heard them through the wall during Platinum Nanny, before I ever met him—”
“Yuh. So?”
“So … she's perfect, Lydia. And I'm not! And … he had the lights on.”
Lydia reached for her glass bottle of French Vittel water so that she could contemplate this information. She thought Kiley was nuts, of course, but was trying to learn to think before she spoke. “Well, I would say that you need to call that boy right now and set up an instant replay.”
“Maybe I just don't belong with a guy that gorgeous. It makes me too self-conscious.” Kiley sighed. “Did you and Billy hook up yet?”
“No,” Lydia admitted. “But soon.”
Kiley reached for her sunglasses. “Well, then I'd say neither one of us can speak from actual experience. Anyway, Tom hasn't called me since he dropped me off at Evelyn's, so it's probably over.”
Even though Lydia thought that Kiley was probably insane, she reached for her hand in a moment of girlfriend solidarity. “I'm sorry, sweetie. Between that and the kiddies—”
“Oh, not just the kiddies,” Kiley corrected. “Evelyn is certifiable. She does primal scream therapy.”
“Which is?”
“It's— Oops, I think Jimmy just got a ball in his eye. Or a finger.”
Lydia turned. Jimmy was holding his right eye with both hands and moaning. Since the game was continuing around him, it didn't look too serious.
“Supernanny to the rescue.” She rose from the chaise. “Can you do one little thing for me, Kiley?”
“Sure. You want me to get some ice or something?”
“I want you to go stand in the breezeway between this pool and the adult pool.” She pointed toward the far end of the family pool, beyond the lifeguard stand. “Stop at the snack bar first and get a tall iced tea in a glass.”
“Why?” Kiley asked.
“Gotta be iced tea and gotta be in a tall glass,” Lydia repeated.
“Why don't you just order one from the waiter?” Kiley asked, bewildered.
“Oh, it's not for me,” Lydia assured her. “I'll keep an eye on your kidlets.”
“Lydia—”
“Trust me on this,” Lydia insisted, smiling sweetly. “This is about to change your life.”
Kiley felt like a complete idiot, standing alone in the breeze-way between the two pools with a tall glass of iced tea in her right hand. She could hear the chortles and yells of the kids in the family pool—Jimmy's eye had turned out to be a momentary victim of a teammate's flinging fingers, but he'd already gotten back into the game. To her right was the adult pool, with its pockets of celebrities playing poker, reading scripts, and doing deals; or actresses/new moms sporting teeny-tiny bikinis to demonstrate that they'd recovered their figures after childbirth.
At the bar where she'd purchased her iced tea (well, Evelyn had purchased it, since Kiley told them to put it on Evelyn's tab. That had been her deal with Platinum, though Evelyn hadn't said anything about it at all), she'd recognized Eddie Murphy with two young African American women in white crocheted bikinis, so stunningly beautiful that they didn't look real. Various players from the L.A. Lakers—white, black, and Latino, all of them six foot eight or taller—were laughing loudly from their towel-covered chaises.
She sipped her tea and enjoyed the heady scent from the eucalyptus trees soaring high above
her, the planters nestled in circular cutouts in the aqua-tiled path.
Kiley was just about to depart when she noticed a thin, blond woman—was there any other kind in Los Angeles, she wondered—staring at her intently from the far end of the breezeway She wore a sage green Tracy Reese tunic, Juicy Couture white linen pants, and golden beaded Indian slippers. Ropes of bracelets snaked her arms. She looked about thirty years old, and was vaguely familiar.
The woman waved once. Kiley turned to look behind her, but there was no one else there. She turned back. Then, like some parody of an espionage movie, the woman edged behind the eucalyptus tree closest to Kiley and crooked a finger slyly in her direction.
Before Kiley could stop herself, she laughed out loud. She had no idea what was going on, but whatever it was seemed ridiculous. What the hell; she was at the Brentwood Hills Country Club. It couldn't hurt to just talk to the woman. She went over and introduced herself.
“I'm Kiley McCann. I don't know you, do I?”
The woman looked right, then left. “Beth Paulson. You're a nanny, right?”
“Right,” Kiley acknowledged. Beth reached out a perfectly manicured hand with OPI ballet-slipper pink nails for Kiley to shake.
“Do you know who I am?” Beth asked.
“You look kind of familiar,” Kiley admitted, “but sorry, no.”
“The Dispatcher? On FX?” Beth prompted.
“Umm …” Kiley was a little embarrassed to admit that back in Wisconsin, her family didn't have cable because they couldn't afford it. “Umm … I can't say I've ever watched. Do you have something to do with that show?”
Beth giggled. “It's the highest-rated show on cable right now. About a nine-one-one dispatcher who gets psychic flashes about her calls?”
Now that Kiley thought about it, she had vaguely heard of the show; maybe it had been mentioned on Entertainment Tonight or something like that.
“I play the dispatcher,” Beth explained. “My husband, Dirk, is executive producer. So, Kiley. Lovely name.” She offered Kiley a radiant smile, showing off the perfect, Chiclet-white teeth that screamed “porcelain veneers at a thousand dollars a tooth!” “Who are you working for?”
“Evelyn Bowers. You probably don't know her, she's a pub—”
Beth exploded in laughter. “Evelyn Bowers? That nut job?”
“I don't know if she's a nut job.” Kiley found herself defending her boss, which was ridiculous because, in fact, Kiley did think Evelyn was a nut job, but it didn't really seem right to dis the woman who employed her.
“I have a feeling you're being kind. Evelyn is famous here for abusing her nannies.”
Huh. Kiley hadn't known that, obviously.
“The whole membership here knows Evelyn. She does publicity for the tobacco industry, do you know that? How can she even sleep at night?”
Good point. On the other hand, growing up, Kiley had heard over and over again from her mom: if you don't have something nice to say about someone, keep your mouth shut. So she kept her mouth shut.
“What's it like working for her?” Beth prompted.
“It's … okay.”
Beth gave Kiley a knowing look. “You haven't been with her for very long, have you.”
Kiley allowed as how that was true.
“In the past three months, that woman has gone through six nannies—and those are only the ones I know about! They all either quit or got fired within a week or two.”
Kiley bit her Bonne Bell Lip Smackered lip nervously. “I didn't know that.”
Beth nodded. “It's so smart of you to look around before the situation gets totally out of control. I've heard stories…. Well, it's just really bad.”
Kiley was still stuck on the “It's so smart of you to look around” part of what Beth had said. “Did you think that I'm looking for a job?” she asked.
Beth pushed her gold-rimmed Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses higher up on her head. “Everyone knows that nannies looking to jump stand in the breezeway holding a tall iced tea.”
Kiley was in a state of shock. “They do? I mean … I, uh …” She had no idea what to say. So that was why Lydia had told her to stand there with drink in hand. “Well, you sure turned up fast. I just got here.”
“Lucky me!” Beth chirped. “The only reason I'm looking is because my nanny of three years just eloped and moved to Vegas.”
“I worked for Platinum,” Kiley heard herself pitching.
“That was you?” Beth grabbed Kiley's wrist. “Oh my God, I know all about you. Platinum told everyone about her perfect nanny—before they carted her away to rehab, anyway. You're hired—”
“Hold it,” Kiley forced herself to say. “It's not… that simple. We need to talk.”
“Well, of course. Can I bring my husband into the conversation? He just came off the golf course; he's probably having a drink in the clubhouse. Let me call him.”
Without waiting for Kiley to give the okay, she pressed the walkie-talkie feature on her Nokia cell phone that seemingly materialized out of nowhere. Five minutes later, a handsome Asian American guy—this was a surprise to Kiley, though she realized quickly that she shouldn't have automatically assumed Beth's husband would be white—with a shaved head and the build of an athlete stepped into the breezeway. She could see a platinum Rolex gleaming on his wrist as took his hands out of his khaki pockets.
“Down here, honey,” Beth called.
Dirk Paulson looked genuinely happy to see his wife; he kissed her cheek. “Hey, sweetie.”
Beth quickly filled Dirk in on possibly hiring Kiley as their nanny.
Dirk nodded. “Sounds good. What would you like to know about us?”
“Um … how many children do you have?”
“Just one,” Beth replied. “She's a sweetheart. Her name is Grace. We named her after the church where we got married.”
Kiley was impressed. “How old is she?”
“Eleven. She's such a sweet kid. Gets along with everyone, Girl Scout troop star, straight-A student, ace soccer player,” Beth went on. “You can meet her; she's at the arts and crafts center right now.”
“She's also quite a terrific young sculptor,” Dirk chimed in proudly.
Kiley didn't know what to say. She was, frankly, dazzled. Was it possible that she had just lucked into what was apparently the most stable family in Los Angeles? Long-married parents who loved and respected each other, with only one child, named after their church. This was so different from Platinum or from Evelyn Bowers, so different from the Goldhagens or even Lydia's aunt and her partner.
Here in the divorce capital of the universe, Beth and Dirk were apparently a revelation from heaven.
“I'm interested,” Kiley confessed. “But there are some … issues to work out, I think.”
Dirk smiled. “With Evelyn Bowers? Don't worry, Kiley First of all, if the issues are financial, whatever she's paying you, we'll beat it by a hundred bucks per week. If there's anything else, we've got it covered, too. Sometimes these situations require the new family to compensate the old family if there's been any financial, er, investment.”
Better and better.
“Where do you guys live?” Kiley asked.
“Well, I have to admit I saw you out at the pool with Kat Chandler's nanny,” Beth confessed. “Are you friends with her?”
“She's one of my best friends in Los Angeles, actually.”
Beth and Dirk smiled at each other. “We don't know Kat and her partner very well, but we definitely know what they drive,” Dirk said.
Beth gave her husband an arch look. “Dirk, stop being so cryptic. Kiley definitely is in luck.” She smiled at Kiley. “You see, we live two houses down the canyon from Kat and Anya.”
“Hi. Remember me?”
Lydia looked up from the issue of Vogue that she'd purloined from the ladies' room in the main dining room to see the cute golf pro from Costa Rica, Luis what-was-his-name. He was dressed in the same regulation club golf shirt as the day before, this
time with sparkling white trousers.
She smiled. “Sure do. But let me put on my sunglasses before your pants blind me.”
Luis indicated the chaise longue where Kiley had been sitting before she'd gone off to the breezeway. Lydia peeked over toward the breezeway again, where Kiley was deep in conversation with a blond woman and an Asian man. Then her eyes slid to the kids in the pool, all blessedly occupied with their water basketball.
Lydia was a girl who knew the fine art of listening in on others' conversations without seeming to do it. She'd picked up the scuttlebutt around the club—the breezeway was the place where prospective employers could poach possible nannies who were unhappy with their current employers, and where unhappy nannies could go to be poached. In other words, it was the nanny-employer version of a pickup bar. Not that Lydia had ever been to a pickup bar. But she'd read a great exposé on one in Cosmo the year before.
She didn't tell Kiley this—she didn't want to give her a chance to back out. Sometimes, a friend had to do for another friend what that friend wouldn't do for herself.
Luis perched on the end of Kiley's chaise. “When am I going to be able to get you out on the golf course?”
She studied him a moment. “Well, it's a little tempting, in that you are very good-looking,” she admitted. “However, I'd prefer to stare at you at an alternate locale.”
Luis laughed. “I'm flattered. I think. Anyway, golf is one of the world's great games.”
Lydia shook her head. “I don't think so. Who'd want to chase a little white ball around a park when they could just walk in that park wherever they wanted to go?”