Nanny Needed

by Georgina Cross

  “Alex is hosting a small party tomorrow night,” Collette says. “We haven’t had people here in ages, certainly not the kinds of dinner parties we used to throw back in the day. Don’t you remember, Pauline?” She doesn’t wait for the woman to answer. “After yesterday, Alex threatened to cancel the party. He said he didn’t think I could handle it, whatever that means.” She scoffs.

  “I’d like you to join us,” Collette says. Out of the corner of my eye, Pauline’s mouth opens in protest. “You can be our guest. A chance to wear your new gown—I mean, where else are you going to go dressed like that? You can stay by my side and Alex won’t mind. It will be so fun to have you.”

  I’m torn. Yes, I’d love the opportunity to wear the dress and already I’m imagining the kinds of gowns the other guests will be wearing, a Valentino or an Elie Saab, Collette’s gown too—I wonder what fabulous garment she’ll be wearing—and I would love to see this place all decked out for a party, but tomorrow is Saturday and Stephen never said anything about me working on weekends. Furthermore, what will the guests think? Who will they think I am? There’s no possible way Collette can tell them I’m the nanny.

  Alex and Stephen won’t go for it. But Collette seems to think this is the grandest of plans. In her mind, it’s a done deal.

  “Tomorrow night,” she says, clutching my hands. “Oh, please say you’ll come. You can arrive in your dress just in time for the party.” Her voice ramps up in speed. “Or better yet, come early. We’ll get ready together. I’ll fix your hair. We can do our makeup and you can help me pick out my dress.” She’s on a roll now, her eyes shimmering.

  I hesitate. What will her husband say? Have other nannies attended private events?

  I look to Pauline for guidance, for the woman to interject and wave off this crazy proposal. We can’t have Collette getting carried away if the answer is going to be no. But Pauline doesn’t say a word, and after a beat, she gives me the faintest of nods.

  Collette sees the blink in my eyes. “So is that a yes?”

  “I don’t know. I think so…?”

  Collette slips off the stool to hug me. She wraps her arms around my neck and is giggling, kissing me on the cheek.

  “This makes me so happy,” she says, clutching my hands once again and stroking them with her perfectly manicured fingernails. “I knew it.” The moment is so intimate, with our faces only inches apart. “When we met, I knew there was something special about you. I could feel it in my bones. I knew we were going to get along, that we had a connection. A chance for us to become good friends.”

  And I’m once again struck by her use of the word friends. She sees me as so much more than the nanny. The two of us worlds apart, and yet she doesn’t see it that way. Lunches and tea parties, and under different circumstances, the two of us going to barre class or on additional shopping excursions. And not just to Bergdorf Goodman. We could stroll arm in arm through the exclusive shops of SoHo.

  But then I glance again at the hot chocolate, where the marshmallows are now melting and collapsing toward the bottom.

  Collette smiles as if she sees her daughter, Patty, taking another sip.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  To my surprise, Stephen doesn’t call and tell me not to come in the next day. Instead, he sends a text with two simple lines: Wear the dress she bought. We’re telling everyone you’re the niece.

  So that’s how this will play out.

  But I’m too distracted to give it any more thought because I’m buzzing with excitement at the chance to wear a six-thousand-dollar gown to a fancy party on West Seventy-eighth Street.

  Even Jonathan registers the thrill on my face. We’re on better ground today after having talked things over late last night, especially when, to make it up to him, I ran out this morning and bought bagels from our favorite shop.

  Extra cheese, I ordered at the counter, knowing how much Jonathan loves when the cheese melts against the bread. As an extra treat, a blueberry muffin that he unwraps, a smile returning to his face.

  “I know you’re a strong person,” he says as I fluff out my dress. “You’ve got this. But it’s my job to worry over you, okay?”

  I smooth the skirt of my gown one more time before moving closer to him. “I know. And I’m sorry about you losing Hearth—”

  He waves his hand. “Paul’s an ass. I should have left a long time ago.” He sets down his bagel. “Besides, I got another gig.”

  My heart leaps.

  “I picked up a catering event tonight. I’m hoping they’ll call me back many more times too.”

  “That’s wonderful, Jonathan.”

  He takes both my hands and gives them the familiar double squeeze, and my chest quiets. We’re going to be okay.

  As if reading my mind, he says, “It’s all going to work out for us both, you’ll see.”

  That afternoon, I call for a cab, Collette having slipped me the cash to pay for a taxi since she doesn’t want me dragging the gown back through the subway.

  The street outside the Birds’ apartment is abuzz when I arrive—two catering vans and a florist, with Malcolm pointing this way and that and asking someone on the street to move their car so the caterer can park. He’s directing another group to the service elevator at the back of the building. He’s so busy he barely tips his head in my direction as I push through the lobby door.

  Upstairs, the commotion is building. Pauline greets me, but she’s distracted, saying something about Collette being in a tizzy. Another snap of her elastic band.

  In the dining room, the event planner is setting out plates. A line of champagne flutes crosses the table already laid out with black tablecloths and tall white candles placed in glass holders. In the kitchen, Freddie is barking orders at the catering staff. Delicious smells of sweet potato and a butternut squash purée waft from the oven. Another heavenly smell, and I’m thinking it’s marinated crab claws cooking in a pot. In the hallway, a woman passes by with a vase filled with peonies and white roses.

  I stare in wonder. The Birds must be dropping a small fortune on this party.

  But nothing I see prepares me for what’s waiting in the bedroom. And no wonder Pauline makes a point of closing the door behind us and locking it as soon as we enter.

  Bedsheets are pulled to the floor. Collette has spilled something on the carpet: beige powder, liquid makeup, a rubbed-in stain. Dresses worth tens of thousands of dollars have been thrown to the floor in a disarray of colors and fabrics. One of the gowns looks like it’s been stepped on repeatedly, a strand of beads pulled off and scattered every which way.

  And in the bathroom, sitting before an immense vanity, is Collette, wearing a silk floral robe. A woman is tending her hair, teasing at the roots and systematically spraying it with something meant to cover any signs of gray—and presto. Collette is returning to her blond and vibrant self again.

  “Sarah,” Collette says enthusiastically as soon as she sees me. “What do you think, hair up or down?” If she threw a fit earlier, the presence of the hairdresser seems to be calming her. She breaks free from the stylist and brushes strands from her eyes. “Pauline says down, but Bridget says up.”

  My eyes slide to the prescription bottle next to the sink, the lid open.

  “What do you think?” she asks again.

  “Down,” I say, but only to side with Pauline.

  Collette chews her lower lip carefully, her blue eyes widening. “Down,” she announces, tilting her chin at me. “You’re right, Sarah. It’s time I try something different.”

  I spot something far more dangerous than the Xanax on the counter: a bottle of champagne with several glasses filled. Has she been drinking? Why hasn’t Pauline stopped her? I can’t tell if any of the glasses have been touched. They don’t appear to have lipstick stains around the rims—yet.

  Bridget finishes teasing h
er hair and is smoothing it gently with a round brush. Generous spritzes of hairspray follow, with touch-ups using her fingers.

  “How’s Patty?” the stylist asks.

  I try not to flinch.

  Pauline’s shoulders square up, but Collette can only smile at how kind it is of Bridget to think of her daughter.

  “She’s doing well,” Collette answers. “We’re already making plans for her next birthday.”

  “Fun!” the hairdresser exclaims and adds more hairspray. “You’re always going on about Patty. I was hoping I’d get to see her today.”

  “I know, sorry about that. We sent her to a friend’s.”

  “I’ve been doing your hair for how long—three or four years?—and still haven’t met your daughter.” Bridget shakes her head. “How old is she now?” But Collette doesn’t answer. “You really should bring her to the salon and let me do her hair. Or I could come here and let her play with my makeup.”

  Collette nods. “She’d love that.”

  “So,” Bridget continues. “What are you planning for her birthday?”

  This gets a huge smile from Collette. “I’m thinking of having a party here. A circus theme or maybe a toy train. A big birthday cake.”

  Bridget pauses with her comb. “A toy train? Like one the kids can ride or just for decoration?”

  “I was thinking of renting one, the kind that’s on tracks. They can ride in the train cars as it plays music.”

  Bridget laughs. “That would be wild. I think all I had for my birthday when I was a kid was a sleepover and pizza.” She continues working on Collette’s hair. “Where would you put it? You’d have to clear out a bunch of furniture.”

  “The dining room.”

  “Wild,” Bridget says, and she stands back, assessing Collette’s hair before applying a few more doses of hairspray. “You know,” she says, “I heard about this carousel you can rent if you want. It comes with lights and carnival music and kids can ride on the bears and horses.”

  Collette’s eyes light up. “How many children does it seat?”

  “I think four. But I’m sure you could shop around and see what else is out there.”

  Collette’s face brightens with the possibility. “I want this,” she says decisively. “Where can I find it?”

  Bridget sets down her brush. “One of my clients told me. I’ll ask her about it and get back to you.”

  “Yes, that sounds wonderful. A carousel…” A dreamlike expression drifts into Collette’s eyes. “Patty would love it. What a marvelous idea for a party.”

  “She’d be the most popular girl on the block.”

  “Oh, she already is.”

  The woman uses her hands to bounce the edges of Collette’s hair into perfection. “I think you’re ready.”

  Collette stares at her reflection for a long, steady moment.

  “Bridget,” she says, to emphasize how important this is, “when you find out more about that carousel, please let me know. I may just buy one and keep it for Patty.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Holy shit, I breathe an hour later. I’m about to go to my first party in an Oscar de la Renta gown. Somebody pinch me.

  “Ready?” Collette asks.

  Pauline and I had convinced Collette that the floor-length royal blue gown with feathers on one shoulder—a purchase from a trip to Paris that she had yet to wear, judging by the tags still hanging on it—was the perfect dress for the evening. She’d paired it with Giuseppe Zanotti rose-gold three-inch stiletto sandals with the most delicate crystal-embellished appliqué wings. I was treated to a hairdo of my own from Bridget, a bun to complement the ballerina tulle of my skirt, and my pick of makeup from what surely equaled thousands of dollars in cosmetics from Collette’s stash.

  She turns to me, her eyes filled with Xanax and happiness, and tells me I look gorgeous. And I do feel gorgeous. Looking in the mirror, I almost don’t recognize myself and blink away a tear.

  Never once did I think while flipping through fashion magazines or after moving to New York, the months when my sketchbook fell to the wayside, my inspiration dimming with no money to buy anything and no time off from the restaurant, that I’d have a chance to go to an event like this. To stand proudly in a gown that I would have only gawked at online. To have someone sweep my hair into a bun and tell me I’m pretty.

  If only Aunt Clara could see me now.

  * * *

  —

  The music guides us to the dining hall, where we find guests mingling with drinks. A trio of violinists performs in the corner.

  A woman in a black strapless number immediately approaches Collette. They exchange air-kisses, their eyes roaming up and down each other as the woman talks loudly to Collette, exclaiming repeatedly how well she looks. “It’s been so long,” she says again and again.

  Collette is all smiles, but I can see she’s forcing her enjoyment. Something in her face tells me this is a woman she doesn’t care for.

  “And who is this lovely lady?” The woman faces me. She is all orange-red lipstick and emerald jewelry.

  I feel instantly exposed. How am I supposed to respond again?

  “My niece,” Collette says. “Visiting from Virginia Beach.”

  Oh good. I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “She’s staying with us for a little while,” Collette tells the woman robotically.

  “Oh, how wonderful,” the woman remarks, and I stand awkwardly.

  The woman swings her attention back to Collette. “How on earth have you been? It’s been such a long time. You’ve been hiding away. We missed seeing you at Friday’s lunch.” She prattles on.

  “Lots of activities,” Collette tells her. A nod to me. “And spending time with my niece.”

  The woman smiles. “Family is oh so important.” Her voice drips with charm.

  “It is.”

  The woman looks across the room. “And Stephen is here too, I see.”

  “Oh, yes. He’s always with us. Alex wouldn’t have it any other way. Me either.”

  “He’s grown into such a wonderful young man.” The woman faces me again and assesses my gown, her smile and nod meaning she approves. “You have such a beautiful family. So good to have young people around, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, it’s wonderful.”

  On cue, Stephen appears and gently pulls at Collette’s elbow, asking if we’d like a drink. He leads us away while nodding at me.

  “You look beautiful,” he says. He plucks two glasses of champagne from a server holding a tray and places one in my hand as he keeps one for himself, Collette’s hands remaining empty.

  “You’ll need to meet the Batemans,” Stephen tells her. “The whole reason my father is hosting this little gathering.”

  Like Collette, I glance around the room at the large catering spread, the violinists, and sprays of blooms set about in glass vases. There’s nothing “little” about this gathering.

  He nudges Collette gently in the direction of a man and woman who look to be in their late sixties and who are walking toward someone else—a tall gentleman wearing a black tuxedo with reddish brown hair and only a flash of silver.

  He is jaw-droppingly handsome and possesses the most elegant disposition. He turns, motioning to Collette to join him, and I can only ascertain that this is, at long last, the elusive Mr. Bird. Tonight, he’s beaming. Seeing him like this, it’s hard to imagine he’s the same man I heard yelling furious threats at his wife.

  Collette leaves me without pause. With every step, she propels herself across the room toward him like a magnet, nothing but beautiful smiles for her glowing husband. Their explosive argument from the other night forgotten.

  I stand and watch with Stephen.

  He clears his throat. “Welcome to the family,” he says, smiling at his own
joke. “If you’re their niece, that makes you my cousin, right?”

  I give him a strange look. He’d been so outraged before and now he’s teasing me?

  “Did you guys call the other nannies nieces too?”

  “Never.” He leans in. “This is a first.”

  I make a confession. “I’m sorry for calling in sick. I should have told you I was working at the restaurant instead.”

  “Well, Collette told me what happened. Seems she got you and your boyfriend both fired.” He casts me a sympathetic look. “Sorry about that. But she also said she upped your pay so…” He rises on his toes before rocking back on his heels again. “Hopefully that means you’re staying.”

  “Yes,” I tell him.

  “How is everything going? I hope you’re handling everything all right?”

  I think again about the hot chocolate turning cold. The multiple games of Chutes and Ladders where Collette pretended Patty was the champion every single time.

  “It’s been okay,” I tell him. “We get along well.”

  “So I see.” He waves his glass at the room. “Inviting you here tonight, buying that dress—like I said, it’s certainly a first.”

  We sip the rest of our champagne in silence, watching his father and stepmother. Alex’s hand is resting at the small of Collette’s back. It’s a loving touch, not possessive. He looks like a man who very much wants for this evening to go off without a hitch, for everyone to see his beautiful wife and be assured that everything in their world is perfect.

  Alex says something to the other couple and they share a laugh, Collette too. Their glasses tinkle as they raise them in a toast.