"Everyone here looks throughme,"I say, feelingmyeyes welling up with tears. "You don"t understand. I"m not supposedtotalk toanybodyandeveryone acts asif I shouldbe gratefuljust tobeinNan-tucket, asifthiswere theFreshAir Fundorsomething.I"m solonely."I"m reallycrying now.
"I respectyou somuch.You"ve madeit throughseven whole days! Hangin therefortheGrayermeister. So,whatareyouwearing?" I smileatthefamiliar question,blowingmynoseontothebrownpaperbag.
"A G-string bikini and a cowboy hat, what else. You?" I b.u.t.ton the top b.u.t.ton of my cardigan and pull upthewoolturtleneckclosearoundmychinas abiting windblows offtheAtlantic.
"Sweatpants."G.o.d,I misshim.
"Listen, fly safe and remember, no pot smoking with the p.o.r.n stars. Repeat: tulip barges and Anne Frankmuseum. kay. p.o.r.nstars. otokay."
"Got it, partner, keep your hat on and shoot straight from? The phone abruptly clicks and a dial tone blares into my ear, signalingthe death of my phone card. I bang the receiver into the Plexi-glas. d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n,d.a.m.n.
I turnawayfromthephonebooth,preparedtogobuy alotof fudge, when the old cell phone explodes in shrill beeping, causing me to trip into the hedge and bang myelbowonthewoodenfenceliningthepathway.
Tears spring to my eyes again as I march solemnly to Annie"s Candle Shack, their appointed meeting place. I shove the cigarette pack deep into the pocket of my jeans just as the Land Rover pulls into the parking lot. I can hear barking coming from the trunk of the car, but Grayer looks joylessly out through thewindow.
"Let"s get going. I want to make the noon flight," Mr. X says as I strap myself in beneath the canoe and heavyraindropssplatterthewindshield.
Sharpbarkingricochetsthroughthecar.
"Makeit stop,Nanny!" Grayer saysgrumpily. "I don"t likethat."
Mr. X turns offthecarandthe Xes joginto thehouse, evading thelast of thedrizzle, while I struggleto unbuckle Grayer and carry the whimpering crate in after them. I set the wooden box down on the s.h.a.g rug, lifting the retriever puppy out, just as an elderly woman with shoulder-length gray hair emerges fromthekitchen.
"Grandma!" Grayer criesout.
"Ah, there you are. I thought I must have the wrong house," she says, untying her scarf and maneuveringcarefully soasnottotouchthemildewedwalls.
"Mother." Mr. X looks as if he"s just been zapped with a stun gun, but then recovers, moving forward automatically tokiss heronthecheek. "Whatareyoudoinghere?"
"Well, that"s a finewaytogreet your mother.Your charming wife calledme yesterdayand invited me to enjoy this refugee camp you probably paid a bundle for," she says, looking up at the peeling paint. "Although, honestly, I don"t know why I couldn"t have come tomorrow," she says to Mrs. X. "I caught the nine thirty. I tried calling from the ferry, but the line was busy, and as much fun as it would have beentowait intherainandeatoneofthefried breadproductsavailable for THE NANNY DIARIES purchaseatyour charming stationI decidedtohail a cab."I standjustoutside oftheir triangle,takingin the grande dame who has sp.a.w.ned this family. I"ve only met women like Elizabeth X when my grandmother has dragged me to Va.s.sar reunions for the cla.s.s of 1862. She"s real Boston Brahmin, part KatharineHepb.u.m, partOscartheGrouch. "Elizabeth,welcome."Mrs. Xglides forwardtogive her mother-in-law aguardedkiss. "CanI takeyour coat?" Call theunion. rs. X istaking acoat!
Elizabeth slips out of her beige Burberry trench, revealing a blue and white polka-dot pleated dress.
"Darling?" Mrs. X says to Mr. X, who still looks stunned. "You"re always saying how you two don"t get tospendenoughtime together,soI thought I"d giveyou alittle surprise."
"I saidhi, Grandma,"Grayersays impatiently.
She bends her knees slightly with her hands on her thighs. "You look just like your father. Now, run along."Shestraightensup. "Who"s this?Andwhat"s that?"
"Elizabeth, this is Nanny. She looks after Grayer." I shift the puppy to my left arm and reach out to shakeherhand.
"Lovely." Sheignoresthegestureandreachesintoherpursetopullout apackofBensonandHedges.
"That"s Grayer"s newdog," Mr. Xsaysjovially.
"I hateit,"Grayer saysfromthecouch.
"Wouldyoulike a c.o.c.ktail,Mother?"
"Scotchandsoda,dear,thankyou."
"Oh,I thinkwe onlyhavevodka,Elizabeth,"Mrs. Xsays.
"Send."m sorry,whatwasyourname?" Elizabethasks me.
"Nan,"I say.
"I cango,Mother."
"I just traveled three hours through torrential rain to spend time with my son. My son who, from the lookofit, mighthave aheartattack anyday."Shepatshis protrudingstomach. "SendNan."
"Well, Mother,theinsurancedoesn"t cover?
Sheturnstome. "Nan,canyoudrive?"
"Yes."
"Doyouhave, onyourperson, a validdriver"s license?"
"Yes."
"Son,give herthekeys. Dowe needanythingelse?" sheasksMrs. X.
"No,I thinkwe haveeverything, Elizabeth."
"The Clarks and the Havemeyers are coming by tomorrow, and knowing you, dear, there"s only rabbit food.Nan,comewith me tothekitchen. I"ll make alist."
I dutifully follow her into the avocado-green kitchen, dragging the dog crate behind me as I go. I park theboxnearthetableandplacethepuppygentlybackonher towel.a.s.soonasI latchthecagedoorshe resumesher yapping. Elizabeth throws open a few cupboards, while I take a piece of paper from the pad by the phone. "This place is quite a s.h.i.thole," she mutters to herself. "Okay." She starts dictating. "Scotch, gin, tonic, Clamato, tomato juice, Tabasco, Worcestershire, lemons, limes." She opens the fridge and tuts with disgust. "What the h.e.l.l is soy milk? Does a soybean have udders? Have I missed something? Carr"s watercrackersandmorebrie. Canyouthinkof anythingelse?"
"Um, macadamianuts, pretzels,andpotatochips?"
"Perfect." My grandmother taught me that when entertaining WASPs, the key is to put out only a tiny silver bowl of eachitemand suddenlyevenPringles havecla.s.s. "Son!Canyoupleaseput thatG.o.dd.a.m.n doginthegarage!Theyelping isgiving me a migraine!" sheshouts.
"Coming,Mother." Mr. andMrs. Xenter thekitchen.
"I couldn"t agree more, Elizabeth. Nanny, help Mr. X carry the crate into the garage," Mrs. X instructs me.
I takethefrontendof thecrateandtrytomakerea.s.suring noises to the puppy as we carry her out to the cold garage. Her brown eyes stare up at me as she tries to steadyherself. "There,there,goodgirl,"I murmur.
Mr. X looksatme asifhecan"t quitefigureoutwhoI"m talkingto.
Mrs. X follows us down the rickety wooden steps as we lower the crate onto the damp cement floor.
"Nanny, here are the keys." She holds them up as she comes over. "Oh, good." She looks down with disdain. "I think it"ll bemuchhappierout?
Mr. X grabs her by the elbow and steers her into the corner by the boiler. "How dare you invite her without consulting me," he growls through clenched teeth. Still waiting for the keys, I crouch down to adjustthepuppy"s towel, tryingtomakemyself asun.o.btrusive aspossible.
"Buthoney,itwas a surprise. 1 wasjusttryingto?
"I knowexactlywhatyouweretrying todo.Well, I hopeyou"re happy. I reallyhopeyouare."Hepivots inhis loafersandstorms backintothekitchen.
She stands with her back to me in the corner, facing the rusting trash cans. "Oh, I am." She reaches up and smooths her fingertips across her forehead. "I"m so happy. Really f.u.c.king happy," she says quietly intothedarkness.
Shewalksshakilypastme,backup thestepstothekitchen,thecarkeys still clenchedinherfist.
"Um, Mrs. X?" I say, standinga.s.shereachesthesplinteringdoor.
Sheturns,hermouthpursed. "What?"
"Um, thekeys?" I ask.
"Right." Shehurls thematmeandstepsthroughthekitchendoortorejoinher family.
He was determined to show who was master in that house, and when commands would not draw Nona fromthekennel,heluredheroutof itwithhoneyed words,andseizedherroughly,draggedherfromthe nursery. Hewasashamedofhimself, andyet hedidit.
. ETERPAN.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
angan< imper="" moments="" after="" finally="" surrendering="" to="" unconsciousness="" i="" wake="" to="" sobbing.="" i="" pull="" myself="" out="" of="" bed="" and="" liedownbesidegrayerashethrashesaround,battling="" themonsterswhohavechasedusout="">
"Shhh. Shhh." I try to take him in my arms, but not before one of his flailing limbs manages to whack me intheeye. "Ow,s.h.i.t." I situp.
"I would appreciate it if you didn"t use thatkind of languagein frontof Grayer." I look over to seeMrs.
X silhouettedinher mutton-sleeved nightgownbythedoorway. "Well?" sheasks,making noattempt to come closer.
"I thinkhehad anightmare."
"Okay, then. Just try to keep him quiet. Mr. X has his tennis tournament today." She disappears back downthehall, leavingusalone.
"Shhh,I"m righthere,Grove,"I whisperasI strokehis back.
He shakes, turning his head into my neck. "No you"re not. You"re gonna go away." He begins to sob againstmyshoulder.
"Grove,I"m here. I"m righthere."
He pulls back slightly and raises himself onto his elbow, puts his small fingers on my cheek and turns myfaceto his. In thedim glowof the Grover night-light he looksintentlyinto myeyes. I hold his gaze, taken aback by the intensity of his expression, as if he were trying to memorize me. When he"s finished heliesbackdown,his bodyslowlyrelaxingasI curlaroundhim,whispering ourmonstersaway.
Unable to get back to sleep, I exhale the last of my cigarette into the shed, stubbing the smoke out into thewetgra.s.s, andlookbackatthehouseframedbythemoonlight.
"Woof!"Thestill unnamedXpetnestles againstmyankles.
"Shhh, you," I say, reaching down to scoop her up like a baby, her slick paws brushing my chin. I carefully makemywaythroughthewet gra.s.suptothebackdoor,pullingitopenslowly andcringingat theunavoidablecreak.I stepoutofmydamptennisshoesintothekitchen.
She wriggles to get free as I nestle her into the crate. Shaking with agitated exhaustion, I stare at the refrigerator. I tiptoe over and open the freezer door to pull out the vodka, desperate to be knocked out.
But the icebox light reveals that my little survival swigs have made a noticeable dent in the reserves. I hold the bottle under the tap before returning it to its spot under the frozen veggie burgers. I hate what thistriphas reducedmeto.I swear,anotherweekand I"d bemixingcrackinthebathroom.
On my way upstairs I see that someone has finally taken the receiver off the hook in the living room.
It"s about time. I crawl under the scratchy wool blanket to await sleep, half-dreaming of Ms. Chicago parachutingontothefrontlawnatbreakfast.
I"m awakenedtwohourslaterbyGrayertrying toscrambleover metogettothebathroom.
28 1.
"Nanny,it"s time forbreakfast."
"In where? France?" I"m so exhausted I can barely see. I hold on to the wall as I follow him to the bathroom and help him pull down his pajama bottoms. While he"s relieving himself I pull open the shade,squintingasthebathroomis bathedinorangelight.
I pull a sweatshirt onover mypajamasandweshuffledownstairs.
"Whatdoyouwantforbreakfast?" I ask,bendingover topickup thepuppy.
"No,Nanny,leaveit,"hewhines,turninghis backonthecage. "Leave itinthebox."
"Grayer,whatdoyouwantforbreakfast?"
"I don"t know. Froot Loops?" he mumbles as I heave her up onto my shoulder. She barks and licks my face.
"Sorry,bud, youknowweonlyhaveSoyFlakes."
"I hateSoyFlakes. I saidI wanttheotherkind!"
"I want a personal life, Grove. We can"t always have what we want." He nods. I give him Soy Flakes, whichhepokesatwhile I takethepuppyoutsidetorelieveherself.
At eight o"clock I wake at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Mrs. X descends in yet another Nantucketoutfit sheboughtatSearle andcasually placesthephonereceiverbackonits cradle. "Grayer, let"s turnofftheTV. Whatdoyouwantforbreakfast?"
"Heal?I starttosay.
"I wantFroot Loops!I wantedit, butNannywouldn"t give ittome."
"Nanny,whydidn"t youfeedGrayer?" sheasks, turningoffthetelevision.
"I WANT IT! I NEED IT!" he screams like a baby into the dark screen, rousing the dog into a yelping frenzy.
"Cut it out," I say quietly, and it silences him for a second until he remembers this isn"t my show. Full-- on screamingensuesanddoesn"t stopuntilhe"s eatinghis secondchocolatedoughnutandthe TVisbackon.I yawn,wonderingifthey"d gethim a hookerifhecriedhardenough.
"I believe I"ve made it clear, Nanny," she says, looking down at the retriever as if she were vermin.
"That I don"t like the dog in the living room. Please put it back in the garage." I pick up the puppy.