You'll Never Nanny in This Town Again: The True Adventures of a Hollywood Nanny

by Suzanne Hansen

  “And you know those dog walkers and tree decorators make way more than we do!” Mandie exclaimed. “Can you imagine anyone in Montana or Oregon hiring a tree decorator?”

  I snickered. I pictured the hardworking men of my little logging community coming home to an interior designer named Pierre who was gleefully decorating their home in a trendy holiday motif, say lime green snowflakes. I could hear the lumberjack saying, “Honey, whadja do with Clyde?” pointing to the spot where his prized elk head had been mounted. “And who is that guy in the living room? I never seen a guy in a pink shirt before.”

  I tried hard to imagine Judy standing in a sea of lights on one side of the tree and Michael on the other, yelling, “Here, I’m going to jiggle this strip and you tell me if any bulbs are burned out.” The scene just wouldn’t form in my brain.

  Actually, there was no tree at our house. The family celebrated Hanukkah instead of Christmas. I hadn’t known much about the Jewish religion, but NNI gave me sort of a Judaism for Dummies—tutoring on traditions, customs, and beliefs. (This had already come in handy at Rosh Hashanah and Passover.) One Friday night in December, Judy decided to light the menorah. Hanukkah struck me as a chance to reflect and think, and I was up for a little divine peace myself. We could have used some that day—rowdy and revved up probably best described the kids. But just as she lit the first candle, Joshua yanked Amanda’s ponytail, triggering much squawking.

  “Goddamn it!” Judy yelled. “You kids have no respect for anything.”

  Needless to say, eight nights of light stopped short right there. I got the distinct feeling that Judy viewed the whole holiday ordeal as one big inconvenience. I started wondering what her holidays had been like as a child. Probably not the kind of loving, haphazard gaggle of fun I remembered.

  The whole Hollywood holiday felt quite surreal to me. Christmas Day was probably going to be a perfect Southern California eighty-degree day, and I was used to snow. I was eager to get back to it. I couldn’t wait to leave for my four-day Christmas vacation in Oregon. Delma had agreed to work the Christmas shift in Aspen with the family. But Judy was having second thoughts about my time off.

  “Suzy, I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she said worriedly. “Carmen will still be on vacation when we get back from Aspen, and I’ll have to let Delma have two days off, and I won’t have any help here on the day we get back. I know you want to go home and be with your family, but can you make it back before the twenty-seventh?”

  I said of course, whatever she needed, and booked my flight accordingly.

  It was the season for giving—and for Michael’s annual bonus checks. I learned from my sister and Sarah that bonuses were the mainstay of CAA agents. Apparently most of them actually made 75 percent of their entire year’s earnings in bonuses. Of course, these were people with six-figure incomes. My sister heard that the accounting department had all received CAA-inscribed watches for a holiday gift last year. But Delma and Carmen promised that I would get a bonus, too. I could hardly contain my excitement. Carmen told me Michael had given her $10,000 the year before. Of course, Carmen had been there for seven years, and a big bonus kept her in the kitchen. Delma’s check had been $1,000. What kind of money would I get? The high-flying LA lifestyle prompted outrageous sums to dance in my head. Like an eight-year-old staring at all the gifts under the Christmas tree, I just had to know.

  I was obsessed. I could not get it out of my mind—and I sunk to a new low. The next morning I began my search. I looked in drawers, peeked in stacks of mail, and opened cabinets. No luck. I was just about to give up when I noticed a note from the CFO saying, “Please verify these are the amounts we decided on.” Attached was a list with the names of each of the household staff and an amount beside each name. Suzy: $2,500. More than two months’ pay! I danced around the room, waving my arms in the air in an awkward attempt to give myself a silent high-five.

  I did a horrible thing today. I snooped to see if I’d get a Christmas check. And I can’t believe what I found. They are so generous to me! Maybe they do notice my hard work. Maybe this is Michael’s way of showing that he appreciates me. On the other hand, it seems like Judy might have had a say in the amount. I wonder whether she thinks it’s too much for me or if she suggested the amount. Okay, here I go again, trying to overanalyze every situation.

  Note to self: Try not to be so nosy.

  P.S. I wonder what Ryan and his family are doing for the holidays. I hope I get to see him when I go home.

  My conscience churned in overdrive. I felt absolutely awful and couldn’t get my misdemeanor out of my mind. Why did I search for the check even though I knew it was wrong? Maybe I had a problem. I never had been very good at minding my own business.

  I decided I would try to make up for it by not snooping around my parents’ house to find the Christmas presents. I needed a little childlike magic for myself, and I thought a Hansen-style holiday would be the perfect tonic.

  And it was. My family seemed like an old-fashioned Norman Rockwell painting compared to the abstract and modern people in LA. We played board games, opened presents, and laughed uproariously. We frosted sugar cookies and hand-delivered them to friends, and plenty of company stopped by to drop off mouthwatering holiday desserts.

  I trekked to a kegger at the lake with my high school friends. Some of them were home on semester break from their second year in college. I was beginning to wonder why I hadn’t gone to a real school. I fielded everyone’s questions about my glamorous job in Southern California. It didn’t seem nearly as glamorous as it had only six months before.

  Of course Amy and I saw Ryan at the party. He was still handsome and muscular, and I felt a rush of emotion when I saw his familiar face. I immediately forgot everything I’d highlighted in my Women Who Love Too Much bible, and in a rush of holiday sentiment, we decided to get back together. How we thought this would ever work since we didn’t even live in the same state I’ll never know.

  Looking back, it’s clear to me how needy I was at the time and how desperately I wanted to have somebody in my life who cared about me and valued me.

  Before everyone had left for Aspen, I had been given one last official duty, a minor one. Judy asked me to pack the children’s clothing for the trip, including snowsuits. I packed the snowsuits for Joshua and Amanda, but I somehow forgot to include Brandon’s. When I returned to Brentwood, Delma filled me in on Judy’s rage. Joshua made sure I understood: he pointedly told me how mad his mom was at me and informed me, triumphantly, that they had to go buy a new suit for Brandon because I foooooooooorgot to pack it. He then stuck out his tongue at me, just so I wouldn’t miss the point that I was a real loser.

  I clamped my lips shut to avoid screaming my thoughts at him: You know what? I don’t even care that I messed up! If your family with their screwed-up values ever ran into a real problem, none of you would have the slightest idea what to do. You want to hear a real problem, kid? It’s when the mill lays everybody off and your parents go on unemployment and you have to join the school lunch program because your parents literally don’t have enough money to buy food! Now that’s a problem!

  I succeeded in squelching my anger and calmly told Josh that I was sorry to hear they’d had to buy an additional snowsuit. Then I calmly went up to my room, where I proceeded to lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling.

  Was there ever a time that I was sick and couldn’t work? No. I had been sick several times, but I still worked. Was there a time when I was late to work? I was tardy after my hair fiasco, but that was it. Had I ever missed a day of work? No. Did I ever complain (well, not out loud) or not do exactly what was asked of me? No. I offered to help even when I wasn’t asked. Did I say yes to every request they ever made of me? Absolutely.

  Even though I had taken some prearranged breaks to go home briefly, I had more than made up for them on vacations when I worked nonstop. Barring those quick breaks, for an entire year I had been “on duty” twenty-four hours a day with less t
han forty-eight hours off on the weekends. I was absolutely forbidden to leave on weeknights, and I had not challenged that. And yet, Judy still showed disdain for me, and over a $40 snowsuit.

  I realized I couldn’t stay in a place that drove me to the brink of yelling at a child who was simply imitating the behavior of his parents.

  This is ridiculous. I’m finally losing it. It is none of my business how they spend their money; I did forget to pack the snowsuit, and I am sure it was a big inconvenience to them. Problem is, I should feel apologetic about it. I don’t!!! And I want to scream, “GET A LIFE!!! You wouldn’t know a real problem if it ran over you with an 18-wheeler.” What was I thinking when I told them I’d stay two years?? Simmer down, Suzy. Remember, you only have 364 days of service left.

  I knew many nannies stayed in jobs with conditions far, far worse than mine, because they felt the children would be so devastated if they left. A British nanny I’d met at Gymboree, who had cared for her charge since birth, brought him home with her so much that he actually called her husband “Papa.” She had a boss just like mine; she knew that if she left, she would never be allowed to see the boy again, and she loved him, just as I loved the kids. “They never spend any time with him,” she had told me in a rare moment of frustration, losing her British cool. “These kinds of people would be better off getting a couple of well-bred dogs instead of giving birth!”

  I called Mandie. Maybe her vacation had gone better.

  “Remember Mrs. Goldberg told me I could go home for a few days in December since they were taking the housekeeper with them on their vacation to Aspen?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “They told me I had to be back on the twenty-third, the day they were coming back. They wanted me to help them get ready for their annual ‘day after Christmas’ trip. When I was making my plans to go home, I told Mrs. Goldberg I could get a less expensive ticket if I stayed over on a Saturday night. She said that this wouldn’t work because I had to be back when they returned from their trip. She offered to pay the difference, since I was getting very few days off. I was thrilled, but when I told her it was two hundred dollars more, she said that Mr. Goldberg would never pay that much. So I ended up buying the more expensive ticket and planning a shorter time with my family. Of course, I was bummed, but I was still excited to go home. Then they called me in Montana and said they were going to stay in Aspen until after Christmas, so I didn’t have to come back on the twenty-third after all. I guess it was pretty thoughtful of her to at least give me the option of staying home longer.”

  “So did you?” I said sarcastically.

  “I wanted to. But I checked on changing the ticket and found out it would cost three hundred and fifty dollars. My family suggested I ask the Goldbergs to help me pay for it, but I didn’t have the nerve after she said they wouldn’t pay the two hundred dollars to change it in the first place. I was in tears on my way back. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day I spent with some surfer guy who was house-sitting, a guy who watches their beach house, too. We had to order pizza from the only place that was open for miles and miles. It was pretty uncomfortable trying to make small talk. Not exactly a great Christmas dinner.”

  My God, did Mandie’s employers have a heart? How could they happily ski and down hot chocolate knowing that Mandie was sitting in their home with some stranger, instead of with her family on Christmas. $200! Surely they had spent more than that on lunch at some point.

  I had held on to my faith in people until now, but the rising degree of my anger and bitterness surprised me. I began to think about the practicalities involved in leaving. Obviously such a move had crossed my mind many times, but because of the two-year commitment, I’d never considered it seriously. Now that I saw how resentful I was becoming, I knew I needed to reconsider.

  The next morning, I secretly called a placement agency just to test the waters. Apparently someone of “my caliber” could literally pick and choose, news that substantially lifted my spirits. The woman at the agency started rattling them off: “I’ve got an opening with Cybill Shepherd; a nightmare job, I might add. She just fired all of her staff. I also have Zuckerman, he’s a producer.… And we just got a call from Shelley Long. You would qualify for any of these positions.”

  When the woman asked me when I could interview, I told her weekends only. When I tried to explain how impossible it would be to get time off during the week, she chuckled and brushed it off.

  “Oh for God’s sake, just tell your boss you’ve got female issues and that you have to go to the doctor,” she offered.

  “No. You don’t understand,” I said, almost smiling at her naïveté. “That would be out of the question. If she ever found out, I would be drawn and quartered in downtown Brentwood, and if I lived through it, I certainly wouldn’t get a decent reference. I’m afraid they’ll be so angry when I quit that they won’t give me a good reference, regardless.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” the woman said breezily. “I’ve never even heard of this guy, and if he’s as big as you say he is, then he’s far too busy to spend time giving you a bad reference. What’s he going to do to you?” She laughed.

  I hadn’t yet figured out how to end my misery when I got a call from my friend Tammy.

  “Suzy, you’re not going to believe it,” she squealed. “I’m here. Here in LA!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sally called on Sunday and said the baby nurse she hired instead of me didn’t work out. She said she wanted me to start this Tuesday, as in today! I drove down in my old GTO with my mom, and I started work today.”

  “No way!” I tried to imagine kind, sweet Sally Field as my boss.

  “Yeah, I’m here now. I was in such a hurry to get here to take the job, I was driving ninety-five miles an hour in the desert.”

  “Just like in Smokey and the Bandit?” I laughed.

  “Well not exactly, ’Cause there was no beer transportation involved, and I had my mother in the car.”

  “Okay, sorry I interrupted, go on.”

  “Anyway, who knew my car could go that fast? And then we got pulled over.”

  “Well you’re preaching to the choir here. The story of my life. So what happened next?”

  “So Mom comes up with the brilliant idea to tell the cop that I’m on my way to be Sally Field’s nanny and see if he’ll let me off. So I take a chance and tell him, and it works! He even tipped his hat and said, ‘Well, say hi to Sally for me,’ and we were on our way.”

  “I’ve found out in Southern California that the name-dropping thing with the police works quite well,” I said dryly. “Well, sometimes.”

  “That’s not the best part. You will not believe this,” Tammy chattered. “I got here and Sally’s just out of the shower, holding the baby. She says she’s having a big dinner party tonight, and that’s why she needed me to start immediately. People are coming to this party to see the baby for the first time. Sally says, ‘Go upstairs and get him dressed in something cute, and I’ll come and get you when it’s time to come down.’ Can you believe it?

  “She came up to get me about eight, and as we’re walking down the stairs, she says to me casually, ‘I don’t think you’ll know anyone here tonight except Kurt and Goldie.’ I stop walking, grab her arm, and shriek, ‘No way, they’re here? Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn are here?’ ”

  “My God, Tammy,” I interrupted. “You said that? You can’t talk like that.”

  “Why not? Anyway, Sally says to me, ‘Is that a problem?’ I blurted out, ‘Sally, I don’t think you understand. Two days ago I was living in my hometown with a population of less than eight thousand people, and now I move into your house, and Goldie’s coming over. I always go see your movies. You guys are so great!’ ”

  “I can’t believe you said that stuff!” I exclaimed. “I’ve never been able to be that honest about my celebrity encounters. I’ve been too scared. I was given strict instructions not to act like meeting these people is anything
out of the ordinary.”

  “Well, there’s more. I went down and there at the table, along with other people, was Kate Capshaw.”

  “Oh my God,” I gasped. “So Spielberg was there, too?”

  “I don’t even know. After I laid eyes on Kurt, I almost dropped dead.”

  “Well, then what happened? Wait. I’ve gotta go. Brandon’s crying. Give me your phone number. Oh, never mind, I have it here somewhere.”

  “Okay … wait. There’s more, Suzy!” Her breathless excitement reminded me of myself one short year ago.

  “Yes, yes, I know. Welcome to Nanny World.”

  A movie director came to see me and brought his nanny. In the dressing room she pulled her pants down and showed me a picture of my face, which was tattooed on her rear end.

  —Jon Bon Jovi

  chapter 17

  the great escape

  By the second week in January, I realized that I would never work up the nerve to actually say, “I quit.”

  I finally decided I needed to talk about this with somebody. I called Mary, the insightful instructor I had become close to at NNI. She listened intently, as usual, this time for over an hour. “Suzy,” she said, “you didn’t commit to stay at this job under any circumstances.” That hit a chord. She was right.

  The very next evening around 10 P.M., I was sitting on my bed engrossed in my nightly phone call with Mandie. Suddenly someone knocked at my door. I froze. I knew it could only be Judy—Delma and Carmen never ventured out of their rooms at night. But Judy hardly ever came to my room. She thought it was important to give her nannies privacy, something I had always appreciated. Had she heard part of the conversation? I told myself maybe she hadn’t, completely forgetting about the results of my controlled experiment with Delma a few months earlier.