Nanny Needed

by Georgina Cross

  “I need to know you’ll come back,” she says. “Tell me there’s no chance of you skipping out on me and Patty tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow is Friday. And then it’s the weekend. I can handle one day.

  “Yes, I can be there tomorrow,” I tell Collette, hoping she’ll drop it and wait for her salad instead.

  But she only glares.

  “You’ll come back to work for me tomorrow? I have your word?”

  I shift my feet. “Yes.”

  “I’ll see you Monday through Friday, no matter what.” She’s not letting up. “You agreed to work for us, Sarah. I expect you to show up.”

  My eyes cut left, then right, scanning the tables. “Mrs. Bird, we can’t talk about that right now.”

  “I need you to commit.”

  “I work here, Collette,” I say. “This is my job. No one knows I’m splitting my time at another place. I haven’t told my boss yet.”

  And with that, she instantly flushes. She doesn’t like being defied, and certainly not by me.

  But she has to know this is the wrong time and place, that you can’t go into another person’s place of employment and make a scene.

  But that doesn’t stop her. She thinks all she needs to do is show up at the restaurant and apologize and everything’s fixed.

  She gazes at me as if to say, See? I can do this on my own. I don’t need Stephen or Pauline.

  For the first time, I’m starting to think Collette is more capable than she lets on.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Just like that, her mood changes. Collette’s emotions shift with the wind until we find ourselves approaching a category three storm.

  “You’re upset with me, aren’t you?” she says, her hands fluttering to her face. My insides squeeze. Oh no, here she goes—tears are welling in her eyes and the sides of her cheeks are caving.

  “I’m so sorry…I’m not sure what’s wrong with me…” She rocks to one side of her seat as if preparing to leave, a hand dropping below the table in search of something, and I look down, seeing what she’s looking for, her monstrous Louis Vuitton handbag, which appears to weigh about fifteen pounds. She’s lifting it to her lap—struggling, really—the handbag making it as high as her knees before she drops it again, then heaves it up. I stop myself from helping her.

  What is she looking for? Tissues? Pills? A hidden flask?

  But she’s reaching for a wallet, fishing out a crisp fifty-dollar bill that she places on the table, whispering something through her tears about “For the salad,” before standing up. She’s stumbling from the table and knocks into the back of someone’s chair nearby.

  Shit.

  “Wait,” I say. “I didn’t mean…” I reach out my arms as if to steady her, catch her if I have to, and look around again, nervous about Paul suddenly appearing.

  But Collette is stepping away, bustling from the table, the Louis Vuitton weighing down her stick-thin arm and threatening to snap it like a twig. She turns, as if wanting to say one more thing, but her handbag knocks into a chair, causing it to rattle and thump on its legs, and soon every single customer is looking her way.

  “Collette,” I call for her.

  She digs in her bag for something else and finds a pair of sunglasses, the oversize shades covering the top half of her face. “I didn’t mean to…I shouldn’t have…” And she moves away quickly. She’s on the run.

  I look to the window—still no sign of the driver. Collette will be wandering the sidewalk aimlessly, lost and alone in this great big city.

  And just as I’m about to call for a cab or order an Uber, she shrieks, “I’m your boss, Sarah!” Her voice cuts through the air like a battle-ax. She spins around to face me. “I’m the one who calls the shots, don’t forget that!”

  I’m staring at her, my heart falling to somewhere close to my waist.

  She’s at the front of the restaurant. The audible gasps from customers, coupled with their blatant stares, make my face burn with an intensity bordering on nuclear.

  Jonathan is frozen midstep by the ordering station, not knowing whether to put himself between me and the wailing Collette or let me handle the situation. I can see it in his eyes—he wants to help. Amelia is beside him too, the pair of them watching openmouthed, not knowing what to do.

  Paul comes running out of the kitchen, making my heart rocket from my stomach to my throat. I’m screwed.

  “Ma’am,” Paul says, and he’s holding his hands out to Collette as if meaning to corner a wild animal.

  But Collette doesn’t move, and he swings his head at me. “Larsen, is everything all right?” But the way he says it is more like Take care of this.

  I shuffle where I stand. “Everything is fine, sir.”

  But Collette is crying again and Paul looks at me with disgust. Everything is not fine, and he knows it.

  “Ma’am,” he says. “Would you and Ms. Larsen like to go outside and talk for a moment? I can bring you some water.” He looks around as I did earlier, hoping—praying—that someone has come to fetch her and can whisk her far away from here.

  But Collette shrinks back and then her eyes turn cold. “I need Sarah to come with me right now.”

  Paul swings his head back to me, as does everyone else in the restaurant. “Right now?”

  I give him a small shake of my head, my eyes drifting to two other tables in my section, knowing they haven’t cashed out yet. I can’t walk out of the restaurant until closing time.

  But Collette won’t hear no, and as I hesitate, she adds, “Come here now, Sarah.” Her voice escalates. “I mean it. Come with me right now or you’re fired.”

  “Fired?” Paul asks, and he stares at me. “Fired from what?”

  “Working for me,” Collette answers him, and I want to disintegrate right there on the spot.

  On the other side of the restaurant, Jonathan closes his eyes as he finally understands who this woman is. Amelia’s mouth drops open.

  I don’t move, but I know what I need to do next. I should beg Paul’s forgiveness and ask him to join me in the back office, where I can explain—I’ll explain everything. I’ll still stay at Hearth but—

  Paul doesn’t give me a chance. “You have another job with this woman?” His mind slowly connects the dots. “Is that why you’ve been late this week, and all the other times before?” He makes a face. “I knew it.” He points a finger at me.

  I should say something. I’ve been meaning to tell you, was going to tell you tonight. Can I still stay on for weekends? But Paul shuts that down.

  “I’m firing you first.” His voice drops, as if he’s suddenly aware of everyone watching and listening. “Grab your stuff,” he orders.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. Collette stands by the door, showing no sign of sympathy. No apology for her outburst or remorse for costing me my job. She’s completely unconcerned that she has humiliated me in front of my manager and co-workers. In front of every single one of these strangers.

  I want to crawl into a hole and hide. Better yet, I want to kick over the nearest table.

  Collette is getting what she wants, and what she wants is me.

  I walk quietly to the back of the restaurant, grabbing my purse from my locker before reappearing at the front door. I give Jonathan a reassuring look, but I can tell he’s furious. In the time I’ve been gone, he’s been arguing with Paul, trying to defend me.

  I meet Jonathan’s eyes and try telling him it’s not worth it, that we don’t need to cause a bigger scene right now. But he’s not backing down.

  “Sarah didn’t do anything wrong,” Jonathan says.

  Paul’s eyes flash with the look of someone who’s about to lose his shit. His jaw tightens. “Cool it, Romero,” he warns.

  “You shouldn’t fire her,” he insists.

  Paul is glaring a
t Jonathan, then turns his fury toward me, shooting us both a look as if to say he knew this was coming, it had been only a matter of time before we caused drama at his restaurant.

  “You want to make this worse for you and Larsen?” Paul asks, sweeping his hard stare at both of us.

  I shoot a pleading look to my fiancé. “It’s okay, Jonathan. I’ll go.”

  “But this isn’t Sarah’s fault,” Jonathan says. “She’s got to make more money. She can work this other job and still stay here, okay? Please?”

  “No, not okay,” Paul hisses. “And who do you think you are, telling me how to run my business?” He waves his hands, wanting nothing more to do with this—with us. “Get your stuff. You’re out of here too!”

  My jaw drops.

  Jonathan reels. “What?”

  “You can’t be serious,” I tell Paul.

  “Oh, I’m absolutely serious,” Paul tells me. “I’ve had enough. Out. The pair of you. Now.” He raises an arm toward the door, dismissing us both.

  * * *

  —

  Jonathan and I stand outside. We didn’t even get to collect our tips; that’s all gone now. Neither of us has a job—at least not at Hearth. I may or may not still have a job with the Birds.

  Jonathan paces in front of the restaurant, stunned, while I face the street, arms by my sides, not knowing what to think.

  I’m waiting for him to start yelling. Cursing. But all I hear him say is “Go after her.”

  I spin around.

  “That woman,” he says, pointing at the back of Collette, who is now walking calmly from the restaurant. “Go after her,” he repeats. “Get your job back.”

  My eyes bulge.

  But I see the look on his face, the panicked expression. If I’ve lost the nannying job too, then we have nothing. It would be the end of our paid rent, along with any shot at paying off Aunt Clara’s medical bills or plans for us to get married soon. I’d have to file for bankruptcy. Our dreams, dissolving and falling apart.

  I chase after Collette.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Collette clearly has no idea where she’s going. She’s bumbling along like a lost puppy by the time I reach her. I tug at her arm. “Collette.”

  Her eyes meet mine. She’s pleased I’ve caught up so quickly. The anger from earlier has been replaced with a satisfied smile. But she doesn’t say a word.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, motioning in the direction of the restaurant. “For back there, how I handled myself. Please don’t fire me. I need this job. I want nothing more than to be your nanny. I’ll make up for it, I promise.” I clasp her arms, knowing that I’m begging. “I don’t have my job at Hearth anymore so that shouldn’t be a problem. I can be with you every day, no matter what. I’m all yours.” I add, “Yours and Patty’s.”

  At this, Collette’s smile grows wide. “I’m glad you’re coming to your senses,” she says, then bobs her head at the restaurant. “I’m assuming that was your boyfriend?”

  “My fiancé.”

  “Oh, you’re getting married?” I don’t like how she’s said it. She eyes me. “So let me get this straight: You’ve got no more restaurant job. Your fiancé is out on the street too.” She presses her hands together, giving me one blink, then two. “You need me.”

  The manipulation.

  I’m torn between my instinct to run as far away from Collette as possible while terrified I’ll never find another job that pays as well as the Birds do. Certainly not one with paid rent.

  I’d actually answered one of the bill collector calls this morning and for the first time ever talked to them about setting up a payment plan. I don’t want that feeling to disappear.

  I look at Collette. She’s right, I do need her.

  “From now on,” she says, “you never let me or Patty down again.”

  I nod, almost imperceptibly.

  “We’re walking,” she instructs me.

  I glance to Jonathan, still lingering outside Hearth. He lifts his head, watching.

  “Where?”

  “Seeing as you’re too sick to care for Patty”—she says this with her fingers in air quotes—“and you no longer have a job at the restaurant, I would say you’re free for the rest of the afternoon.” She nudges her chin forward. “We’re going.”

  I glance at Jonathan again and wave, indicating I’ll catch up with him later. He observes us carefully, lifting one of his hands in a cautious send-off that causes another tremor through my chest.

  We travel a couple more blocks before turning on East Tenth Street. Collette is heading to Tompkins Square Park.

  She enters through the first gate, and as we walk along the path toward the playground, sounds of children’s laughter come at us from all directions. The swings are filled with younger ones while preschool-age tots shoot down the slide for kids their size. Parents and nannies stand around parked strollers. An elderly couple sit beside each other sharing a newspaper.

  Collette motions to an empty bench and we sit. We haven’t spoken since we entered the park, and she doesn’t seem in a rush to do so, only holds out her cape so as not to wrinkle it against the seat. We watch the children for a while, the way they hop from one piece of playground equipment to the next, their squeals reverberating from metal slides, little voices shouting, “Catch me!” as their laughter mixes with barks from a nearby dog park, the squeaky opening of the gate.

  Collette says, “Patty loves playgrounds too.”

  Present tense.

  I stay silent.

  “She’s always trying to make new friends. Asking if they’ll play chase or hopscotch,” she goes on, crossing her legs, her three-inch heels glittering beneath the sun. “Lately, she’s taken to the monkey bars and it’s quite impressive to watch. Those tiny arms swinging from one bar to the next. I was never good at that when I was a kid. Were you?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer, only laughs. “I never had the strength. But my Patty”—another giggle—“she’s a strong one, that girl. Much stronger than me.”

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat and keep my eyes forward.

  With or without a nanny, this woman is hanging by a thread.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Want to do something fun?”

  I nearly whimper. I just want this day over with so I can return to Jonathan and reassure him I got my job back. I need to tell him it’s going to be okay.

  “I can’t,” I tell her.

  “What?” She shoots me a punishing look. “You have more tables to wait on?” She stands abruptly and clasps my hand. “Sarah, whatever it is you’re about to say, whatever you think you had planned is canceled. Your fiancé will be all right for a short time without you. You’re coming with me and I’m taking you someplace special.”

  My gut squeezes. “Mrs. Bird, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  She won’t hear it. “The driver will take us. It will be a nice surprise.” She crosses her heart, her lips curling. “Trust me.”

  As we return to the entrance of the park, a black Cadillac pulls up and a driver wearing a crisp black suit jumps out to open the door—so she really did convince someone to take her out.

  But I don’t move.

  “Sarah?” Collette says, pulling on my arm. She digs in her wallet, a one-hundred-dollar bill showing up in her hand. “Three more of these when you go home.”

  I stare. “You’re going to pay me four hundred dollars to go somewhere with you?”

  “Pretty fantastic, yes? Bet you wouldn’t have made close to that working at your restaurant job.” She shoves the money in my pocket.

  I wince. “Collette, you don’t have to keep handing out money—”

  “No,” she says, her eyes softening. “But it would be nice to spend some time with you. I’ve been so lonely…” She hiccups a breath, and dammit if
my heart doesn’t pull. “Please, Sarah.” She holds my hand and begs.

  I can’t abandon her. I can’t let her go off in this car alone.

  “Please,” she says and leads me to the car.

  Once we’re inside, she calls out an address on Broadway to the driver.

  We’re weaving through traffic before chugging slowly north up Sixth Avenue. Collette stares straight ahead, the same mysterious smile on her face; the throngs of people on the sidewalk are of no interest to her.

  I’m tempted to look at my phone, pull it from my pocket and search for what’s located on Broadway.

  At least we’re staying in the city, I tell myself. We’re not leaving Manhattan. We’re not crossing state lines.

  I think of Jonathan. What’s he doing right now? Is he worried sick? Is he pacing the apartment and wondering what in the hell happened to us at Hearth? He must be freaking out—he’s worked at that restaurant since long before he met me and will be stressing about where he can find his next job.

  I shoot him a text. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe Paul did that to you.

  A quick response back. We’ll figure something out.

  He texts me again: What about you? Is everything okay?

  I glance quickly at Collette. If she’s noticed I’m texting, she doesn’t register.

  She’s keeping me as her nanny.

  Another glance out the window. We’re turning at Bryant Park.

  I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I love you.

  We travel a short distance farther on Broadway until the driver pulls over. Collette looks up at the building we’ve stopped in front of, pure excitement lighting her face. “I’ll call you,” she tells the driver as we step from the car.

  “Do you see the rooftop?” She points to the balcony. Chiseled concrete blocks and an elaborate railing. “That’s where we’re heading.”