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

by Suzanne Hansen

  “Who’s this? Is that yoooouuu?” she said incredulously, looking me up and down as if to say, How is that possible? Peggy had never been all that kind to me, but this tipped the scale, so to speak.

  “Maybe you should wear this much makeup more often,” she said, laughing quietly to herself.

  I was considered a hot number back in my day! I wanted to retort. Oh my God. My day was only a couple of years ago. I had to put myself back together. I already looked like a haggard housewife, and I wasn’t even married!

  It didn’t add up. I loved the way that this family really enjoyed every moment of their lives. They were hardly ever in a hurry. That was what I’d craved at the Ovitzes’, right? But just being around them wasn’t enough. I couldn’t stop thinking about all my friends whose lives were moving forward, to a future. I knew I wasn’t getting any closer to where I wanted to go in my life—wherever that was—by staying here and working as a nanny. And as I read self-help books about weight, I knew that this was a big part of the problem. My heart was hungry.

  Rhea, on the other hand, looked great. She left the house bright and early each day for the gym near their house, or sometimes she would go to the studio on the lot to work out with a personal trainer and do Pilates. When the girls complained that she was leaving, she would remind them, “A mom can’t be a good mom and feel good about herself if she doesn’t exercise.”

  It was hard to believe she was turning forty. To mark the occasion, Danny was concocting a huge surprise party for her in their backyard. Lisa, who was much more hip than I (as if that would have been difficult), knew all the latest music, and she suggested that Danny hire a local band to play for the party, one she’d heard at a club and thought was very good. Danny said he’d never heard of the Red Hot Chili Peppers and didn’t think he could risk having a no-name group for such a special occasion. He looked at me and asked my opinion; I nodded in agreement and said that I’d never heard of them, either. I see now that I couldn’t have made it as a trend spotter: Kevin Costner, now the Red Hot Chili Peppers—0 for 2.

  Several nights before the party, I was in my room when I heard Danny’s voice coming from their bedroom next door. I heard him call Michael by name, so naturally I stood at the door of my bedroom to listen in on the conversation. From what I could gather, Danny had never called him for a reference when they initially hired me. I guessed that he had meant it when he said they’d just try me out for themselves.

  The two of them must have been discussing a business deal, and then Danny got quiet. I froze. For all I knew, Michael had purposefully tracked me down and called Danny to try and get him to fire me. I heard Danny say, “I know. Wasn’t that a coincidence? Rhea found this nanny and she used to work for you … uh-huh.” There was a moment of silence as Michael said something, then Danny replied, “Oh, so you’d pass on this one, eh?” as if he was still in the interviewing stage. “Yes, okay. Okay. Got it. I’ll talk to you later. Thanks for the tip, Michael. I’ll let Rhea know.”

  I was starting to wonder if I might have been able to leave on better terms with the Ovitz family. Michael had made it clear that he valued me. What would have happened if I had tried harder to make things work out? Had I made a mistake by leaving? Sure, I hated confrontation, but maybe I could have talked to him like he was a real person, not a mogul. Maybe if I had gone to him and told him what was really bothering me—that I thought Judy didn’t like me, the lack of time off, Josh’s lack of respect—this nasty war could have been avoided. I was starting to think that I shouldn’t have seen the situation in such black and white terms: stay and be unhappy, or leave and be happy. Lately I’d been doing a lot more thinking about the choices I had made. I now saw that I had been a little depressed ever since I had left the Ovitz family. I needed to start journaling more. It was the only kind of therapy I could afford.

  It kinda seems like the deal with the Ovitzes was as much my fault as it was theirs. I never set any boundaries with Judy. By never requesting what I needed, I made it easier for her to ignore the possibility that I had any needs at all. I settled for what they gave me, rather than asking for what I needed in order to be a good caregiver.

  Why wasn’t I clearer about what I wanted when Michael talked to me at the end? I was probably just thinking about Carmen, who never seemed to get any changes she asked for. I never even attempted to tell him what I was so unhappy about. I guess I was waiting for him to ask. I just didn’t see that I had other options besides giving my notice.

  This was so hard to admit. Here I was at a great nanny job, and I had carried my past mistakes with me. No wonder I was depressed.

  I poured out my feelings to Mandie, who was still dealing with economic issues. This time, however, she was the one spending the big bucks. The Goldbergs had taken Mandie and the kids to France, where Mr. Goldberg conducted some business and Mrs. Goldberg shopped. Well, “shop” made it sound so benign. These were spending expeditions of monumental proportions. On the first outing, Mandie fell in love with a $400 purse. She lusted after the purse like she was Dolly Parton in a wig shop. The problem, of course, was that she didn’t have Dolly Parton’s budget. It was out of the question. Or was it? She approached Mrs. Goldberg, desperately trying to find some rationale for buying the overpriced bag. Mrs. Goldberg agreed that it was beautiful, but even she felt it was far too much to pay for a purse. Not the least discouraged, Mandie found a phone and called Montana (never mind that the charges for the overseas call would have paid for a large part of the purse).

  “Of course, dear, you must buy it. When will you ever be in France again?” her understanding mother responded. Buoyed by this very sensible argument, Mandie went back to the store and maxed out her Visa card. That night she slept with the purse on the pillow next to hers.

  Not to be outdone, the next day Mrs. Goldberg spied a Jackie-O-style small clutch purse about the size of two cigarette packages. While forking over her platinum, she remarked, “I’m on vacation. I should be able to do this.” The cost of the purse? Six thousand U.S. dollars! Later that afternoon, she paid $343 for a key chain.

  Even in my unhappy state I couldn’t help but laugh.

  Ryan was his usual happy-go-lucky self and he was enjoying LA. He briefly worked as an ironworker, but he decided that the hard physical labor didn’t really appeal to him. So he spent a lot of time hanging out in the evenings with me at the DeVitos’. I had weekends off on this job, and on Friday nights I left to camp out in the Brentwood box with him for a couple of days.

  Danny invited both of us to Rhea’s birthday party. I had it pegged as a dressy event, and Ryan was not happy about the dress code. I finally managed to find a jacket, white dress shirt, and tie for him to wear. (The last time I had made him wear a tie was our homecoming dance, and he had stuffed it in his pocket ten minutes after we had arrived at the gymnasium.) After arguing at Nordstrom’s for a half hour about some dress shoes (it was a draw; he bought them but refused to wear them when the time came), we went back to my sister’s to get ready for the big party. I pulled out my good ol’ standby black dress once again, but I couldn’t get the zipper zipped. I decided there was no way I was going to get the dress on without busting a seam, so I gave up.

  I heard Ryan in the living room talking to Cindy. “Suzy just doesn’t think my Nikes go with these khaki pants.” I rolled my eyes in irritation. Why didn’t I just admit it? I was dating Jethro from The Beverly Hillbillies. I threw on something of my sister’s, an odd garment that was a cross between a skirt so short a hooker might wear it and a white jacket that made me look like I belonged in a medical office. My sister, bless her heart, normally doesn’t own any clothes that are in fashion for the current decade. This was no exception. So, I had to go with the nurse/call girl/dancer look.

  Several valets were waiting to park our car when we rolled up. I stepped out and pulled the knit skirt down for the eighteenth time while my sidekick fidgeted with his tie as if he had a noose cinched around his neck. It was just getting dark
as we entered the outside gate, but I could clearly see that we were the only ones dressed up. The rest of the guests wore shorts, golf shirts, and sleeveless blouses. I felt my mood sink even further. Once again I’d forgotten about the chic-casual LA style. After he’d gotten a gander at the crowd, Ryan turned to me with a knowing smirk and hastily bid adieu to his tie and coat. He rolled up his long sleeves as if he were Popeye the Sailorman.

  Looking around the patio, I could see that all the Cheers people were present, as well as Michael Douglas and Danny’s old buddies from Taxi, Marilu Henner and Tony Danza, and, oh my God, the last person on earth that I wanted to see—Michael Ovitz. He was still in his office uniform of crisp white shirt and conservative tie. I scanned the crowd for Judy, but I didn’t see her anywhere. I kept looking over at him, and I was sure he kept looking back in my direction. Maybe he didn’t recognize me? Maybe he didn’t remember me! I was really thinking rationally now. But he gazed directly at me, so I made sure I kept enough bodies between us so that I wouldn’t have to talk to him. Finally, with a sigh of relief, I spotted him making his way toward the valets. Thank God he had only stopped by to put in a brief appearance.

  Ryan saw a major movie star come out of the bathroom with two other people, wiping his nose. “They were snorting coke, Suzy,” he told me. I refused to believe it, even after hearing Sheila’s stories about piles of cocaine. I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around people doing drugs in the bathroom of the house I lived in.

  Seeing Michael at the party tonight was pretty weird. I’m actually getting paranoid enough to think that he might have been following me. I was glad that he left early.

  The struggle with Ryan getting ready for the party just hammered home that we’re too different, even though I wasn’t right about the dress code. I can’t shake knowing that we’re not headed in the same direction. Seems like the most loving thing I can do for him is to let him go, so that he can find someone who appreciates him just as he is. There’s just no way I’m ever going to be excited about the monster truck rally coming to town. I keep trying to mask his bad-boy scent in cheap cologne. I’m pretty sure he’s sick and tired of my constant nagging and complaining about him doing pretty much everything wrong in my eyes.

  Note to self: Get out my book about women who love too much and find the chapter about how to get out of this. And then do it, once and for all.

  Second note to self: Go get that book I saw on the talk show yesterday, Smart Women/Foolish Choices: Finding the Right Men, Avoiding the Wrong Ones.

  Tammy called to let me know she was back from her trip to Aspen. She wanted me to know that Sally’s family had gone out to dinner with the Ovitzes, and she had seen Delma and the kids.

  “How were they? How did the kids look?” I grilled her for every possible detail.

  “Well, Mrs. Ovitz didn’t recognize me at first. When she made the connection, in the middle of dinner, she gasped, ‘Oh, you’re her friend!’ ” Tammy giggled. “She pointed her finger at me as if I were a plague-bearing rodent. The kids looked up at her, then me, in alarm. It’s as if she had figured out that I was a part of that ‘nanny mafia’ that’s responsible for so much trouble in Hollywood. ‘That Suzy,’ she spat, ‘she left us high and dry!’ ”

  According to Tammy, the disparaging remarks and finger-pointing continued while Sally and Alan attempted to steer the conversation elsewhere. As soon as they got into the car, Sally made it clear to Tammy that they had attended the dinner for business reasons. She apologized for the uncomfortable incident.

  “I’m sure that your friend is a very nice girl, because she helped us find you,” she said.

  There’s a good reason why people really, really like Sally Field.

  I couldn’t have worked and raised four kids without all the help I’ve had.

  —Meryl Streep

  chapter 22

  the goodbye girl

  My mom was coming to Hollywood. Ever since she found out how well Danny and Rhea were treating her daughter, she became their biggest fan. She combed her People magazine for any mention of them, clipping out the articles. I teased her that her real motivation for the visit was to see them, not me. But in my heart I knew that if I was a nanny in North Platte, Nebraska, she’d be out to see me just the same. That’s just how my mom is. But she was probably a lot more excited by the prospect of meeting my famous employers than she would have been to visit farmers in the heartland.

  When we walked up to the DeVito door together, I felt an unfamiliar urge to protect the poor star-struck dear. I wanted to give her a hug. Instead, as daughters will, I hissed instructions for her not to embarrass me.

  Rhea welcomed my mother as if she was an old friend. No fuss, just an easy warmth and instant familiarity. Within a minute or so, my mother was loosened up, completely in her element, just talking about kids with another mom. Rhea told us that Danny and the girls were watching TV in the office and suggested that we check in on them. We peeked in the room to find Danny lying on his belly on the rug, one elbow propping up his chin while he swatted his free arm at the kids climbing up on his back. I said, “Danny, this is my mother.”

  The kids looked up and greeted her, and Danny called out, “Yeah, hi!”

  Rhea frowned in the doorway. “Danny, it’s Suzy’s mother.”

  He jumped up and flashed that big, sheepish, “Whaddayagonnado?” smile. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologized as he extended his hand to Mom. “I thought you said ‘This is Mariah.’ ”

  My mom was charmed down to her toes.

  The morning after my mom arrived, Max woke up at 5 A.M. on the dot, and as he made disgruntled noises, I ran downstairs to get a bottle ready. He was sweet but a fitful sleeper, and when he wrestled his pajamas into a knot during the night, I’d always drag myself out of bed to untie him. I slept five feet away, and every time he shifted, I’d jolt awake, wondering if he was about to wake up and if I should get a bottle warmed up before he really started crying. When I returned this time, he was already letting out little cries of distress, and I lifted him out and held him in the rocking chair until he finished drinking. He fell into a fragile doze as I laid him back down in the crib.

  I relished the thought of crawling back into my warm bed for another hour, but just as I had snuggled down, he started fussing again. I knew that sometimes he’d just fuss a bit and then fall asleep, so I didn’t move immediately. Instead I did something I’d never done before. I put my pillow over my head and ignored Max for several minutes, hoping he would settle down. The light flipping on startled me, and I looked up to see Rhea standing in the bedroom doorway.

  “Why is Max crying?” she asked. It sounded like an accusation.

  “I just gave him a bottle,” I said sheepishly. “I think he’s going to go back to sleep.”

  “I don’t think he’s tired,” Rhea said, taking Max into her arms and making some cooing noises at him.

  She didn’t say anything more to me as she left with Max, but I felt horrible. Not only did Rhea think that I didn’t care about her son, but for a minute there she had been right. I had cared about my sleep more than him. I was wracked with guilt. What kind of nanny ignores a crying child just five feet away from her? Well, British ones, I consoled myself.

  But I was no Mary Poppins. I tried to analyze the situation. I had been awake most of the night, making sure that Max was okay and that he didn’t cry too much and wake the rest of the house. But no matter how many times I had gotten up and comforted him, he still seemed restless. Of course this was part of my job description. I couldn’t ignore the crying and go back to sleep like an exhausted mother could. I was his nanny, and I didn’t get to make those kinds of calls. I could see that I was simply becoming resentful of taking care of others. It was very clear to me at that moment that I just didn’t want to be a nanny anymore.

  I felt so crappy about what I had done that I wanted to make it up to Rhea. Instead of taking advantage of the extra hour of sleep, I got up, straightened out Max’s crib, an
d went down to the kitchen to unload the dishwasher. My mind was jumbled, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I just didn’t want to be a caregiver anymore. I didn’t want to be in LA.

  All day I wondered how I could possibly tell Danny and Rhea that I wanted to leave. They had been completely accommodating and sweet. I could still hear my mother going on about what down-to-earth people they were and how lucky I was to be working for them. I was lucky, I knew that, but I was also lucky to have figured out that I had to move on. I think I finally realized that, up to now, I had been operating from a kid’s mentality, waiting for someone else to ask me what I needed. But I was ready to make a major switch: I wanted to be an adult, to take care of myself and make my own life choices.

  I wanted to go for a drive, but Mom and Ryan had taken my car so that they could go sightseeing while I worked. I wouldn’t have been able to leave the kids, anyway. But I was still frustrated about being stuck there, miserable, with no way of getting out to clear my head. It was another sun-drenched day in California, and I took the girls out to the backyard to play in the pool while Lisa ran an errand and Max took a nap. After spending twenty minutes searching for their swimsuits—which they had worn the day before but had wrapped in towels and left under their beds—and then locating alternate suits, beach balls, floating frogs, towels, and all the other pool necessities, I was ready to collapse in the sun and relax.

  I was just settling down in the lounge chair when the girls decided that I needed to be the referee for their water fight. They soaked me to the bone as an invitation. Then I heard the front gate buzz. Mom and Ryan sauntered into the courtyard. They were joking about how Ryan had panned for gold at Knott’s Berry Farm but hadn’t found so much as a flake.