by Alan Katz
Totally unaware of the commotion, Mrs. Wohlfardt commended Martin for his extreme honesty and thoughtfulness, and even offered to buy him a lifetime subscription to that magazine (which would be extremely hard to do, since it doesn’t actually exist).
“Martin,” Mrs. Wohlfardt added, now seemingly in the habit of starting and ending every sentence with the nanny’s name, “you have changed my boys’ lives. They are cleaning. They are studying. They are all-around solid citizens . . . when they used to be seen as, well, liquid citizens, Martin.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Martin told her, though clearly he didn’t. No one could possibly have known what she meant.
And no one could possibly have predicted that she’d think Martin was the greatest nanny ever, ever, ever. But that’s what she said. Well, actually, she said, “Martin, you’re the greatest nanny ever, ever, ever, Martin.”
And don’t bother looking up “liquid citizen.” There’s no such thing.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Martin had been a member of the Wohlfardt household for forty-two days, nine hours, and six minutes, and though they still hadn’t seen his letters of recommendation, Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt still absolutely adored him.
So life was pretty good for Martin, except for one thing that kept him feeling edgy. It was the conversation he accidentally overheard while standing with his ear pressed against Nathan and David’s bedroom door:
“Hey, Nathan, if we do get to go on the trip, do you think Mom and Dad will invite Martin?” David asked.
“I dunno, maybe,” Nathan answered. “Sometimes they ask the nannies to come with us, sometimes they don’t.”
Martin walked away after that, and never heard what the boys said next:
“I hope Martin is invited,” said Nathan.
“Me too,” said David. “Even if it might mean that he’d make us alphabetize the ski slope or something like that.”
But having walked away, Martin never heard those words. Instead, the two things he took away from the eavesdropping were a flattened ear and a sense that the Wohlfardts didn’t really consider him a member of the family. But if other nannies had earned their way onto family trips, that’s what he wanted too! After all, he was very competitive.
Which is exactly why soon after, Martin quizzed the boys as he did some self-created yoga moves on the kitchen table.
“You’ve had three hundred and forty-seven nannies?” he asked.
“Or seven hundred and thirty-four,” David said as he tried to eat breakfast while ducking Martin’s crisscrossed feet. “We’re not sure.”
Martin’s mustache twitched. “And I’m the best, right?” he asked.
“You’re not the worst,” Nathan said, looking up from a steaming bowl of oatmeal, which is something that no previous nanny had ever been able to convince him to try. But since Martin had tricked him into eating it, Nathan found he loved it. Absolutely loved it.
“I’d say . . . definitely in the top one hundred and seventeen,” added David.
Somehow that brought out Martin’s spirited side; he suddenly wanted to be their Best Nanny Ever (as long as it didn’t take a lick of actual extra work, of course).
After all, being crowned Best Nanny Ever would surely take Martin off the hook regarding the letters of recommendation.
And that’s when he decided he simply had to learn all the best-loved secrets of the other nannies—to absolutely guarantee that he was the best of all. So he snuck into the next room, picked up the phone, zipped through the Wohlfardt speed dial, and made some calls.
“Wohlfardt? No!” screamed one voice after another on the phone. One person Martin dialed even had an outgoing answering machine message that said, “Please leave a message at the beep, unless you’re calling from 82727294 Flerch Street in Screamersville. In that case, please hang up and lose this phone number. Thank you, and have a wonderful day.”
But Martin managed to keep quite a few nannies on the phone long enough to invite them. (He told one she’d won the lottery, another that she’d won a car, and yet another that she’d won Minnesota.) He copied down their favorite recipes. And . . . since Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt were planning to be out that evening, he invited each of the nannies to a “Teach Martin” surprise reunion dinner.
It was a perfect plan. Soon Martin would be the Babysitter of the Universe!
Martin was sure Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt would leave the house promptly at six; he knew they didn’t want to miss a moment of the annual Parents Who Attend Too Many Dinners dinner at the boys’ school. And indeed, they left at 5:59—which gave Martin just enough time to try to read all his recipe notes and prepare the most special dinner ever. Or perhaps the second-most special. Or the 928th.
Moments later, as the boys sat down at the table, the doorbell rang.
“Oh, who could that be?” Martin asked, knowing full well that it was Maria or Maria or Maria or Maria or Maria or Maria or Maria or Ibi.
It turned out to be Maria. And soon after, Maria rang the bell. Then Maria. Then Ibi. And to make a long story short, there were soon two Wohlfardts hugging eight former nannies, followed by eight former nannies hugging Martin. (The eight former nannies didn’t hug one another because, in fact, they’d never met one another.)
After the massive hugging session, they all sat down to a dinner that Martin had prepared based on all the nannies’ favorite recipes. Did he succeed? Well, as the fourth Maria said, it was simply . . .
LUFWA.
Inedible, really. The meatballs tasted like melon. The melon tasted like mothballs. The mothballs tasted like egg salad (they were pretty good, actually, but no one knew it, ’cause who wants to eat mothballs?). And the soup tasted like armpit. (Left armpit, to be specific. Right armpit tastes kind of sweet and tangy, while left armpit is usually salty and quite . . . oh, never mind.)
The second Maria asked for seconds. The third Maria asked for thirds. The fourth Maria almost threw up.
At one point, David passed the candied yams to Ibi, who used them to give herself a relaxing facial massage. And when the sixth Maria saw that, she realized that Ibi was her long-lost sister. They embraced, cried, and performed their native Majma-Flajma dance on the dining room table.
The whole night was a lot of bad food and noise and confusion. The horrible cooking also gave the house a foul odor that you could actually see. Everyone was holding their noses and keeping their mouths tightly shut, which definitely made it hard to eat pork à la bananas flambé with hot-fudge gravy. Thinking quickly, Martin grabbed the family’s Truman 6000 Airvac (the vac with the sales pitch “This is the vacuum to use, because you spell ‘vacuum’ with two ‘U’s!”), and he swung it around wildly to suck up the odor. It also snatched the fifth Maria’s wig, the first Maria’s necklace, and . . . the third Maria’s homemade name badge that said I Wish I’d Been the Second Maria.
At precisely 10:04 p.m., Martin suddenly announced that it was time for the nannies to go home. But just as they all scrambled for their coats and lined up to leave, the front door swung open and Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt entered.
“We are ho—” Mrs. Wohlfardt.
“Welcome ho!” shouted Martin, trying to block the fact that he’d filled the house with a houseful of former nannies.
Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt stepped around Martin; they couldn’t believe the crowd, the smell, or the insane mess in the kitchen. Nathan and David felt sure that their parents were going to yell at Martin for causing such chaos on a school night.
Once the nannies had noisily filed out, Martin made a deeply heartfelt, deeply moving, and deeply nonsensical speech:
“Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt, I’m sure you want an explanation. Well, that is, you see, your young men are so special to me that I simply could not bear the thought of them tearfully missing their once-beloved former nannies. And so, I went to great lengths to learn their most special recipes, best bedtime stories, and most family-pleasing tips. That’s what this was all about. And did
it leave a smell? Yes. A leftover kitchen mess? Perhaps. But it’s a smell of caring . . . and a mess of love!”
Mrs. Wohlfardt started crying. Mr. Wohlfardt looked like he might too.
Nathan and David just slapped their foreheads. The Mustache had somehow managed to do something bad and come out looking good, and their parents were thrilled, just thrilled, that Martin cared enough about the family to try to become as wonderful as all the other nannies put together.
Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt ignored the fact that he hadn’t actually learned a single thing from any of the Marias or Ibi (or any of the other nannies he’d spoken to).
Mrs. Wohlfardt called Martin “the nanny of the century. In fact, the nanny of last century too! Truly one in a million, Martin.”
David rolled his eyes and said to Nathan, “He is one in a million. The worst one in a million.
Why couldn’t Mom have hired any of the other nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred ninety-nine nannies?”
“And why didn’t Blerblemowcha show up for the reunion?” asked Nathan.
The night ended happily (if you don’t count the fact that the second Maria thought the Wohlfardts’ car was her prize and drove off in it, or that the third Maria now thinks she owns Minnesota. Or that Ibi’s face smelled like candied yams for months afterward.).
Mrs. Wohlfardt decided that in honor of Martin’s extra-special display of affection for the family, they would hold a small ceremony. Mr. Wohlfardt had the boys fetch the Nanny-o-Meter™ and give it to Martin. They also had David rejigger it so it was permanently set to ‘1’—to signify that there was only one nanny in the Wohlfardts’ lives, now and forevermore.
Even though the Nanny-o-Meter™ was falling apart, it was quite a remarkable trophy for the Best Nanny Ever to receive.
Martin claimed he was totally unprepared for this wonderful recognition, then made a twenty-seven-minute speech in which he thanked everyone he’d ever met (except, strangely, any members of the Wohlfardt family), kissed every piece of furniture in the living room, and cried until there was an actual puddle at his feet (which the boys were told to mop up, of course).
Good night.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
“We need a new basketball hoop,” David complained one day as he shot the ball and watched it roll off their rusty hoop. The hoop was so bent that the ball would not go all the way through.
“If you need new sporting equipment, my good fellows,” Martin said loudly as Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt passed by on their way to the car, “you should earn the funding yourselves. After all, there is pride in a job well done, not a gift well gifted.”
Nathan and David couldn’t believe their ears. Earn their own money? Them?
“That’s a splendid idea,” Mrs. Wohlfardt said as she got into the car. “Martin is right—if you boys earn the money for the hoop, you’ll enjoy it more!”
As Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt drove away, Martin winked at the boys.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m gonna help you out.”
The boys gulped.
“Are you going to buy us a hoop?” Nathan asked.
“No,” said Martin. “But I’ll help you raise the cash.”
“How?” asked David.
“How?” said Martin. “How? I happen to be the Chancellor of Lemonade, that’s how. And I’ll even share my ultra-secret family juicing recipe, which was passed down by my ultra-secret family.”
Moments later, Martin invaded the Wohlfardts’ kitchen and emerged with a pitcher of his “famous” lemonade. Then the trio headed out to build their stand and to seek fame and fortune as lemonade sellers. David set up the table and cash box. And Nathan carried the pitcher of lemonade and a package of cups out of the house.
Martin carried nothing—that is, nothing but a huge plastic garbage bag.
When all was set up, Martin opened the garbage bag and pulled out a padded chaise longue and a giant flashing neon sign that read:
Free world-class lemonade—only 47¢
Then Martin promptly took a nap while the boys worked.
As soon as the first customer took a single sip, word spread throughout the neighborhood. In no time at all, there was a line halfway down the block, and in the first ten minutes, they had raised $78.02.
Martin sent the boys back inside for more lemonade. Then he sent them back for more cups. David ran in to use the bathroom, because he had personally drunk $26.32 worth of lemonade. And Martin ran in for more food.
Sales mounted. On Martin’s fifth trip back for more food, he brought along a batch of his ultra-secret cookies, passed down by the same ultra-secret family.
Later in the day, Martin added his super- double-ultra-secret brownies to the menu. Then his never-before-served sandwiches. His dandy candy apples. And finally . . . Aunt Marvin’s legendary chicken fricassee.
By sundown, they’d sold more than five hundred dollars’ worth of food and drinks. David was tired. Nathan was wiped out. And Martin was sore from lying on his chaise longue all day. His sunburn hurt a little too.
But Nathan and David were ecstatic. As they walked home with Martin, the boys realized they’d earned enough for the basketball hoop and some hockey equipment.
“Look at all this money!” Nathan declared. “We’re rich!”
“I wonder how much you need to be a millionaire,” David asked.
Obviously, Nathan didn’t answer the obvious question. When they got inside the house, the boys found the cupboards were bare. The fridge was completely empty. Why, it looked as if someone had ransacked the kitchen.
And indeed, someone had.
Unfortunately, what they’d sold all day was food that Martin had taken from the Wohlfardts’ pantry. No, there were no secret family recipes. Martin had pretty much sold off everything in sight (except for a turkey leg on the counter, which he picked up and nibbled on).
“Someone’s been eating in our house,” David said.
“Good guess, Goldilocks!” Nathan laughed. “Martin, you cleaned this place out!”
What a problem. What to do? It was dinnertime, and there was nothing to eat in the house, save the old salami sandwich under Nathan’s bed (or was it peanut butter?) that now looked more like a science experiment. How would Martin squirm out of this one? Would the Wohlfardt parents finally discover the real Martin?
Not a chance.
Martin marched the boys into the den to explain the whole business to Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt.
“Why, I’ve taught your boys the lesson of a lifetime—responsible business!”
He showed Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt all the money that Nathan and David had made at the lemonade stand. Then he explained how much they owed for the food and drinks taken from the Wohlfardt kitchen.
“And,” Martin continued, “the remaining profit—ten dollars—will go to charity.”
“We’re so proud of our boys!” Mr. Wohlfardt exclaimed.
“Martin, all three of you make quite a team!” Mrs. Wohlfardt agreed. “Thank you, Martin!”
Then Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt went out for dinner to celebrate their responsible family (and also to celebrate the seven thousandth day since their first date).
As for Martin and the boys, they went on a huge food shopping expedition to the biggest supermarket in town.
So when Mr. and Mrs. W got home from their dinner later, the cupboards and fridge were fully restocked. They were so thrilled—“Oh, thank you, Martin!” Mrs. Wohlfardt said again—they went out for coffee to continue celebrating their joyous family (and also to celebrate that it had been one hour since their dinner to celebrate the seven thousandth day since their first date—the Wohlfardts were a very sentimental couple).
Once again, the boys had done almost all the work and gotten pretty much none of the credit. Nathan and David knew that their lives were changing because of this strange, unusual (possible spy) nanny. And no matter how much they thought about it, they couldn’t decide if Martin Healey Discount was t
he best thing ever to happen to them . . . or the worst.
They’d soon know for sure.
Or would they?
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
It had been nearly six months since The Mustache had taken over at the Wohlfardt household. And while kids regularly get report cards at school, they don’t usually receive them based on their behavior at home. But if Nathan and David sat down and looked at their lives and thought about how they’d changed under Martin’s “care,” the grades they’d give to themselves would be pretty eye-opening.
Their grade for getting along, which would have been an F prior to knowing Martin, would be a B-plus.
The only thing keeping them from an A was the time that Nathan ate David’s last dried fruit snack, so David put pudding in Nathan’s best dress shoes, so Nathan served David that pudding as a snack, so David walked around with the taste of chocolate-covered feet in his mouth, so he put Styrofoam peanuts from a package they’d received into his brother’s lunch box and Nathan ate them, thinking they were some kind of new potato-y snack.
Please don’t do any of that, but all those things made for quite a fight between the boys, and that’s why they wouldn’t get an A.
Their grade for cleanliness, which would have been a triple F-minus prior to knowing Martin, would be an A. See, because Martin showed off his leadership in front of their parents so often, the boys were forever cleaning, tidying, organizing, and vacuuming. In fact, if you were to find any clutter at all in their room, there’s a pretty good chance it would have been alphabetized.
Their grade for dedication to their studies, which would have been a septuple F-double-minus prior to knowing Martin, was an A-minus. They studied. They did well on tests. They showed how smart they were, or, in a few cases, how smart they weren’t. But they tried. Yes, they tried.
And finally, their grade for being good sons, for treating their parents with honor, respect, and courtesy, which would have been a C-plus prior to knowing Martin, would be an . . .