Thepuppyletsout a lowgrowl ofindignationandI stickmyhandinthetotetoquiether.
"Thanks,"I mutter. Fat gut.
Stepping down into the stench of the terminal, I squint in the brightness of the orange-tiled hallway.
The Greyhound clock reads 4:33 as I stand for a minute to get my bearings. My adrenaline completely spent, I lower the tote to the ground between my feet and peel off my sweatshirt. The humid summer heatisalreadytrappedinthetunnel,alongwith thestenchof commuter sweat.
I walk hurriedly up to the street level to find a cab, past closed bakeries and newsstands. Outside the EighthAvenue exit hookers and cab drivers await their next jobs while I let the puppy out on her string leashtopeeby asweatinggarbagecan.
"Whereto?" thecabbieasksasI slideinbehindmybags.
"Second and Ninety-third," I say, rolling down the window. I root around in the plastic bags for my wallet andherbrown furry headpushesits wayout ofthetote,panting. "Nearlythere,little one.We"ll betheresoon."
"Bethune?"heasks. "I thoughtyousaidUpperEast."
"Yeah, I"m sorry. Ninety-third," I clarify.As I open my wallet Mrs. X"s check flutters to the floor of the cab. "d.a.m.n."I bendover toretrieveitinthedarkness.
"Paytotheorderof:Nanny.Five hundreddollars."
Five hundreddollars. Five hundreddollars?
Ten days. Sixteen hours a day. Twelve dollars an hour. So, that"s like sixteen hundred dollars. o, eighteenhundred. o,nineteenhundred!
FIVE HUNDREDDOLLARS!.
"Wait, makethatseventwenty-one Park."
"Okay,lady."Hemakes a sharpU-turn. "You"repaying."
You havenoidea.
I unlock the Xes" front door and carefully push it open. The apartment is dark and silent. I put the tote down and the puppy wriggles out of it as I drop the rest of my bags on the marble floor. "Pee anywhere."
I reachforthedimmer on thehall switch, bathing thecenter tablein a tautcircle of light.Thespotlamp poursbeautifulcoldripplesthroughthecut-crystal bowl.
I leanforward and rest myhands on the gla.s.s top thatprotects the brown velvet swags. Even now, even as it"s gotten this out of hand, I"m distracted from my thoughts of the Xes by the trappings of the Xes. Andreally,itstrikesme,isn"t thatthepoint?
I pullbacktoseethetwoperfectpalmprintsI"ve leftonthegla.s.s.
Walking determinedly from room to room, I switch on the bra.s.s lamps, as if illuminating their home will shedsomelightonhowI couldhaveworkedsohardandbeenhatedsomuch.
I openthedoortotheoffice.
Mariaha.s.stackedMrs. X"smailcarefully onherdeskjustthe way she likes it ?envelopes, catalogs, and magazines each in separate piles. I riffle through them and thenflipthepagesofhercalender.
. anicure. Pedicure. Shiatsu.Decorator. Lunch.?
"Vicepresidentinchargeofbulls.h.i.t," I mutter.
. onday10amInterview: NanniesAreUs?
Interview? I flipquicklybackthroughthelastweeks.
. ay28:InterviewRosario. June2:InterviewInge. June8: InterviewMalong.?
They start the day after I said I couldn"t make the drive to Nan-tucket because of my graduation. My mouthgoesdry asI readthenotesscrawledinthemarginofthatafternoon.
. emember call problem consultant tomorrow. N. behavior is unacceptable. Completely self- centered. Providing poor care. Has no respect for professional boundaries. Is taking complete advantage.?
I close the book, feeling as if I"ve been punched in the solar plexus.An image flashes into my mind of Mrs. Longacre"s crocodile handbag resting by her feet under the stall part.i.tion in the bathroom of II Cognilioandsomethingsnaps.
I head to Grayer"s room, throw the door open, and see it immediately ?the stuffed bear that arrived on Grayer"s shelfafterValentine"s Daywithoutexplanation.
I pull it down, flip it around, and pull the back panel off to reveal a small videotape and control b.u.t.tons.
I rewindthetapewhile thepuppyracesacrosstheroomandintoGrayer"s closet.
I press recordandplacethebearon topof Grayer"s dresser,shiftingit arounduntil I thinkI"ve setupthe shot.
"I"m completely self-centered?Mybehaviorisunacceptable?" I shoutatthebear.
I take a deep breath, trying to channel my rage and begin again. "Five hundred dollars. What is that to you, a pair of shoes?A half day at Bliss? A flower arrangement? No way, lady. Now I know you were anartmajor,sothismightbe alittle complicatedforyou,butforten THE NANNY DIARIES 303 straightdays of unmitigated, torturoush.e.l.l, youpaidme threedollarsanhour! So, beforeyouwrapup a year of mylife to be trottedout as an anecdote at the next museum benefit, keep in mind thatI am your ownpersonalsweatshop!You"ve got ahandbag, a mink,and asweatshop!
"AndI"m theonetakingadvantageof you?"
"You have. No idea. What I do. For you." I pace back and forth in front of the bear, trying to formulate ninemonthsofswallowed retortsintosomesortofcoherentmessage.
"Okaylisten up. If I say "Two days a week," your responseshouldbe "Okay, two days a week."If I say, "I have to leave by three for cla.s.s." This means, wherever you are. ll those important manicures, those crucial lattes. ou drop and come runing, so thatI can leave. ot after dinner,not the next day, but at three o"clock, p.r.o.nto. I say "Sure, I can fix him a snack." This means five minutes in your G.o.dd.a.m.n kitchen. This means microwave. This does not involve steaming, dicing, sauteing, or anything at all to do with a souffle. You said "We"ll pay you on Fridays." Now listen, genius, this means every one. ast time I checkedyouwerenotCaesar,um,it"s notup toyoutorewrite thecalendar. Every. Single.Week."
NowI am reallyrolling. "All right. lamming thedoor inyourchild"s face:not okay. Lockingthedoor to keep your son out when we"re all home: also not okay. Buying a studio in the building for "private time" definitely not okay. Oh, oh, and here"s one: umm, going to a spa when your son has an ear infection and fever of one hundred and four? News flash; this officially makes you, not just a bad person, but like, officially, a terrible mother. I don"t know, I haven"t birthed anyone, so I may not be an experthere, butif mykidwaspeeing all over thefurniturelike a senilef.u.c.kingdog. mm, I"d be just a tad bit concerned. I might, oh, you know, just on a whim, eat dinner with him at least one night a week. And, just a heads-up here, people hate you. The housekeeper hates you. he might-kill-you-in-your!sleep kindof hatesyou."
I slowdowntobesureshegetsevery word. "Nowlet"s review: thereI was. nnocentlystrolling throughthe park.I don"t knowyou.Five minutes later,you"ve got me cleaning your underwear and going to "Family Day" with your son. I mean, how do you get there, lady? I reallywanttoknow. ust wheredoyougettheb.a.l.l.s toask a perfectstrangertobe asurrogatemother toyourkid?
"And you don"t have a job! What do you do all day? Are you building a s.p.a.ceship over there at the Parents League? Helping the mayor map out a new public transportation plan from a secret room at Bendel"s? I know!Thinkingup a solutiontotheconflictintheMiddleEastfrombehindthelockeddoor ofyour bedroom! Well, youkeeprightonpluggingawaythere,lady. heworldcanhardlywait tohear how your innovations are going to launch us right into the twenty-first century with a discovery so fantasticthatyoucan"t spare amoment togive yourson a hug."
I lean down and stare deeply into the bear"s eyes. "There"s been a lot of "confusion,"so let me make this perfectly clearforyou: thisjob. hat"s right,j-o-b, job. hatI"ve beendoingishardwork.Raisingyour childis hardwork!Whichyouwouldknowifyouever diditformorethanfive minutesat atime!"
I stand back and crack my knuckles, ready to take this all the way to the top. "And, Mr. X, who are you?" I pause to let that sink in. "And, while we"re making introductions, you"re probably wondering who I am. Here"s a hint: I did not (a) come with the rental or (b) show up out of the goodness of my heart, asking your wife if she had any ch.o.r.es I could do around the house. What do ya think, X?wanna take a guess?"
I lookatmynails,pausingdramatically foreffect.
"I"VE BEEN RAISINGYOUR SON! I"ve been teaching him how to talk. How to throw a ball. How to flushyourItalian toilet. I am not amed student, abusiness student,anactress, or a modeland I am in no shapeorform a "friend"tothatcrackpotyoumarried.Orpurchasedor whatever."I shudderindisgust.
"Here"s theupdate,big guy. This isnottheByzantineempire?
you do not get a camel and a harem with each plot of land. Where"s the war you fought? Where"s the despot you"ve overthrown? Making seven figures a year, with your fat a.s.s in a chair, is not heroic and, while it may win you a trophy wife or two, or five, it most definitely does not qualify you for the door prize of fatherhood! I"ll tryto put this into terms you can understand:your sonis not an accessory.Your wife did not order him from a catalog. You cannot trot him out when it suits you and then store him in thebas.e.m.e.ntwith yourcigars."
I pause to catch my breath, looking around at all the toys he"s paid for and never once enjoyed with his son. "Therearepeople. nyourhome. uman beings. rowningintheirdesireforyoutolookthemin theeye.You madethisfamily.And all youhavetodoisshowup andlikethem. It"s called "re-la-ting." So get over whatever totally-absent-buying-your-affection parenting that you received and get here, man. ecausethisis yourLIFE andyou"re justp.i.s.sing itaway!" "Woof!"
Thepuppypushes thecloset door open, grippingthe bus-pa.s.s holder in her mouth. "Hey,give me that," I say gently, kneeling down to take it from her. She drops it, rolling onto her back to play. I stare at the dirty shredsof paperinsidetheplastic, all thatremains ofGrove"s businesscard.
I blink, looking around Grayer"s room, so familiar to me that it feels like my own. I see him sashaying down the imaginary runway of our Christmas fashion show, wa.s.sailing his heart out in the bathroom, fallingasleepagainstme asI finishGoodnightMoon.
"Oh, Grover." And then I am crying, curled tight in a ball by the foot of his bed. Waves of sobs rack through me at the fresh realization that I will never see him again. That this is it for us, Grayer and me. WhenI"m finally able tocatch mybreath, I crawl over tothe dresser andpress stop. I setthebearon the floor, leaning against Grayer"s bed as I gently rub the puppy"s soft belly. She stretches out, resting her pawonmyarm,her warmeyes soappreciativeoftheattention.
AndthenI know.
NothingI"ve saidsofarwill makethemlovehimthewayheneedstobeloved.
Orallowmetoleavewith anygrace.
I hearGrayer: "Besmart, Nanny.You"ll besmart."
I rewindthetapebacktothebeginning.I press recordandreturnthebeartothecarpetinfrontofme.
"Hi. It"s Nanny. I"m here in your apartmentand it"s..." I glancedown atmywatch. "Five in themorning. I entered with the key you gave me. And I have all those possessions you value so highly within arm"s reach.Buthere"s thething.I justdon"t wish youharm. If fornoother reasonthanyouhavetheprofound privilege of being Grayer"s parents." I nod, knowing it to be true. "So I was just going to leave. But I can"t. I really can"t. Grayer loves you. I havebornewitness tohis love for you.And hedoesn"t care what you"re wearing or what you"ve bought him. He just wants you there. Wanting him. And time is running out. Hewon"t loveyouunconditionallythatmuchlonger.Andsoonhewon"t love youatall. Soifthere"s one thing I could do for you tonight, it would be to give you the desire to know him. He"s such an amazing little person. e"s funny and smart. joy to be with. I really cherished him. And I want that foryou.For bothofyou,becauseit"s just,well,priceless."
I reach out for the bear and press stop. I hold it in my hands for a moment. Looking over at the bottom shelfof thebookcase,I see asmall framedpictureofCaitlin tuckedbehindthePlayskoolgarage.
Right.
I hit recordandplopthebearbackdown.
"And if not, then at the very least you owe me, and whoever else you bamboozle into doing it, some f.u.c.kingrespect!"
I pickup thebearandejectthetape.
Wending my way back to the front hall, I turn off all the lights as I go. The puppy comes scampering into the foyer as I stand over the gla.s.s table once again. I set the tape down in between my palm prints andresttheirhousekeys ontopofitswhite label.
I pickup mybagsandpullopentheXes"frontdoorforthelasttime.
"Grover," I say quietly, willing with all my heart, as if I were standing over my birthday cake, making the most important wish of my life. "Just know that you are wonderful. abulously wonderful. And I hope somehow you"ll know that I"ll always be out here rooting for you, okay?" I flick the last light off andscoopupthepuppy. "Good-bye, Grayer."
The sun is just coming up as I lead her into the park. She pulls her string leash taut as we walk up the bridle path to the reservoir. The first joggers are already making their steady orbit around the water as the sky brightens and the last star disappears. Over the treetops the buildings framing the western skylinearebathedinthepinkdawn.
The water laps against the stones as I stand against the wire fence, taking in the beauty of this open vista inthecenterofthecity.
I reach into one of the bags and pull out the Xes" cell phone. I take a moment to feel its weight in my hand before lobbing it over the fence. She jumps up to press her front paws against the wire, barking as itmakes a satisfying splash.
I look down at her. "How do you like that for leaving with grace?" She barks in agreement, tilting her headupatme,herbrowneyes lookingaffectionatelyintomine.
"Grace."
Shebarks.
"Grace,"I sayagain.
Shebarksagain.
"I see.Well, then,Grace,let"s gohome."
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.
We wish to thank: Molly Friedrich and Lucy Childs of the Aaron Priest Literary Agency for their unflagging support. hould Nanny ever have to go head-to-head with Mrs. X, these are the women we"d want behind her! Christy Fletcher for seeing the potential. Jennifer Weis for letting us know when there was no there there. Katie Brandi for reading this book almost as many times as we have. Joel for taking Nanny on the honeymoon. George for keeping us going on the tough days, and Le Pain Quotidienforthesupplies.
Table of Contents PART ONE.
CHAPTER ONE.
CHAPTER THREE.
PART TWO.
CHAPTER FOUR.
CHAPTER FIVE.