The Nanny Diaries Part 14

"Reportingforduty,sir!"

"Kitchen, library, maid's rooms. I'll take the living room, the dining room, the study, and the laundry room. Okay?"

"WhataboutGrayer's room?" Joshasksme.

"Right. I'll startthere."

I turn on each light as I pa.s.s, even the rarely used overheads, illuminating the darkest corners of the Xes'home.

"Nan, you can't say we didn't try," Josh says, pa.s.sing me a cigarette as we sit by the recycling bins in thebackstairwell. "She wasprobablybluffing,hopingyou'dtellMrs. Xsoshecanstartredecorating."

Sarah lights another cigarette. "Besides, whoever finds them in this apartment deserves to find them.

hey're so well hidden. Are you sure this woman works with Mr. X and not the CIA?" She pa.s.ses me backthelighter.

Joshisstill holdingtheporcelainPekingeserloghepickeduponhis search. "Tell me again."

"I don't know,two,maybethreethousanddollars,"Sarahsays.

"Unbelievable! Why? Why? What am I missing?" He looks down at the dog in complete disbelief.

"Wait, I'm gonnagogetsomethingelse."

"You better put that back exactly where you found it," I say, too tired to chase after him to be sure he does. "I'm sorry I made you waste your night looking for panties," I say, stubbing out the cigarette on themetalrailing.

"Hey," she says, putting her arm around my shoulder. "You'll be fine. The Xes have jewelry that has jewelry. hey'll befine."

"WhataboutGrayer?"

"Well, hehasyou.Andyou've got H. H."

"Okay, I don't got nuthin'. I have an answering-machine tape in my jewelry box and a plastic spoon I carryaroundinraypurseas a souvenirandthatmightbeasfarasitgoes."

"Yeah,yeah,sure. CanI mentiontheplasticspoonatthewedding?"

"Honey, if we make it that far you can carry the plastic spoon at the wedding. Come on, let's get Josh andwipeourfingerprintsonourwayoutofhere."

WhenI get hometheansweringmachineisblinking.

"Hi, Nanny, it's Mrs. X. I don't know if you've left for Paris yet. I couldn't reachyou on your cell phone again. We may have to get you a new one with better coverage. I'm calling because Mr. X gave me a week at the Golden Door for Christmas. Isn't that wonderful? Lyford Cay is so awful and I still haven't recovered fromtheholidays.'m just exhausted,soI've decidedtogo nextweek. Mr. Xwill be around, but I was wondering if you'll be back, just so I can tell him you'll be available if he needs you. Just so we knowit's covered. I'll beinmyroomthis evening.Call me."

Myfirst instinctis tocallherandtellhernever toleaveher houseagain.

"Mrs. X?Hi,it's Nanny."

"Yes?"

I take a deepbreath.

"So,will thatwork?" sheasks.

"Of course,"I say, relieved thatsheisn't askingaboutmyhousecall.

"Great. So, I'll see you Monday morning. week from tomorrow. My flight's at nine, so if you could arrive byseventhatwouldbegreat.Actually,we bettersaysixforty-five, justtobeonthesafeside."

I roll over for the eighth time in the last fifteen minutes. I'm so tired that my body feels weighted, but every time I'm about to drift off, Grayer's hacking cough echoes through the apartment. I reach over to pulltheclockbacktowardmeandtherednumbersread2:36A.M. Jesus. I hit the mattress with myhandandroll ontomyback.Staring up atthe Xes'guest-room ceiling, I tryto add up the few hours of sleep I've managed to get in the past three nights and the total makes me even heavier. I'm bone tired from spending twenty-four/seven keeping Grayer entertained as his mood has blackenedandfever risen.

When I arrived she greeted me at the elevator with a list in her hand, her bags already waiting in the limo downstairs. She just wanted to "mention" that Grayer had a "tiny bit of an earache" and that his medicinewasbythesink,alongwith his pediatrician's number?justincase."Andthekicker: "We really prefer thatGrayer notsitinfrontofthetelevision.You twohavefun!"

I knew "fun" was hardly going to be the word for it as soon as I found him lying on thefloor next to his trafenset,listlessly rolling acabooseonhis arm.

"Anyideawhen Mr. Xwill behome tonight?" I hadaskedConnie,dustingnearby.

1 39.

"Hope you brought your pajamas," she replied, wagging her head in disgust. I've come to look forward to Connie's arrival over the past few days; it's a relief to have another person in the apartment, even if she is only a whir of dusting and vacuuming. As the temperature has held steady at seven degrees Fahrenheit, we've been under house arrest since my arrival. This would have been bearable, ideal even, if H. H. hadn't had togo rightback up to schoolfor readingperiod. He said I could takeGrayer upstairs to pet Max, but I don't think either one of them is up to it. Grayer's "tiny" earache may have improved, buthis coughhas onlyworsened.

And, needless to say, his father has been completely MIA. e simply failed to return home my first night. Numerous phone calls to Justine have unearthed only the voice mail of a suite at the Four Seasons in Chicago. Meanwhile the reception desk at the spa is screening Mrs. X's calls as if she were Sharon Stone. I took Grayer back to the doctor this afternoon, but his only advice was for Grayer to finishthepinkamoxicillin andwait itout.

Another round of raspy coughs. e's even more congested now than he sounded at dinnertime. It's so dark and so late and this place is just so big that I'm starting to feel as if no one will ever come back to getus.

I get up, draping the cashmere throw around my shoulders like a cape, and shuffle over to the window. Pulling theheavychintzdrapestotheside,I let thestreetlightfromParkAvenuespill intotheroomand restmyforeheadagainst thecoldwindowpane.A cabpulls up tothebuildingacrossthestreetand a boy and girl stumble out. She's intall boots and a skimpy jacket, leaningagainst him asthey swerve past the doorman and into the building. She must be freezing. My forehead chills quickly from the gla.s.s and I pullback,touchingit withmyhand.Thecurtainfallsclosed,takingthelightwith it.

"Naaanny?"Grayer's small, scratchyvoice calls out.

"Yes, Grover, I'm coming." My voice echoes in the big room. I shuffle through the darkness of the apartment,lit upinweirdshadows from pa.s.sing cars outside. The warm glow of his Grover night-light greets me along with the whir of his Supersonic 2000 air filter. The minute I step through his doorway my stomach drops. e is not okay. His breathingis laboredandhis eyes arewatering.1 sitonthecornerofthebed. "Hey,sweetheart, I'm here." I put my hand on his forehead. It's boiling. The moment my fingers touch him he starts to whimper.

"It's okay,Grover,you're justrealsickand I knowit's yucky."ButI don't knowanymore. His wheezing alarms me. "I'm going to pick you up now, Grover." I reach my arms under him, the cashmere wrap droppingtothefloor. Hestartstocry fully,themovementagitating himasI pullhim up tome. I gointo automaticpilot, runningthroughoptions.Thepediatrician.Theemergencyroom. Mom.

I carry him to the hall extension and lean against the wall for support as I dial. My mother answers on thesecondring. "Whereareyou?What's wrong?"

"Mom, I can't get intoit,but I'm with Grayer andhe's beensickwith anearinfectionandthiscoughand they've had him on antibiotics, but the cough keeps getting worse and I can't get a message through to Mrs. X because the receptionist says she's been in some sort of sensory-deprivation tank all day and he can't seem to breathe and I don't know if I should take him to the hospital because his fever won't go downandI haven't sleptintwonightsand? "Let me hearhimcough." "What?"

"Put the phone to his mouth so he can cough." Her voice is calm and steady. I hold the phone near Grayer's mouth and within a second he has erupted into a deep cough. I feel the vibrations of this effort wherehis chestispressedtomine. "Oh, G.o.d, Mom, I don't know what to? "Nanny, that's the croup. H*%has the croup.And you need to take a deepbreath.You maynot fallapartright now. Breathewith me,in I focusonhervoice,taking a deepbreathinforGrayerand myself. "And out. Listen, he's okay. You are okay. He just has a lot of fluid in his chest. Where are you rightnow?"

"Seven twenty-one ParkAvenue."

"No,whereintheapartment?"

"In thehall."

"Is this acordless phone?"

"No,shedoesn't likethewaytheylook."I canfeelthepanicstarttowell upagainashewhimpers.

"Okay, I want you to go into his bathroom, turn on the shower so it's comfortably warm. ot too hot, just warm, and then sit on the side of the bathtub with him in your lap. Keep the door closed so it gets niceandsteamy. Stayinthereuntil hestopswheezing.You'll see,thesteamwill help.His fever is trying tobreak anditwill bedown bymorning.Everything is goingtobe justfine. Call backinan hour,okay?

I'll bewaiting."

I feel somewhat soothed knowing that there is something I can do for him. "Okay, Mom. I love you." I hangup andcarryhimbackthoughthedarknesstohis bathroom.

"I'm going to flick the light on, Grayer. Close your eyes." He turns his sweaty face into my neck. The lightis blinding after being up for so longinthe dark and I have toblink a fewtimes before I can focus in on the gleaming silver of the faucet. I grip his body as I lean over to turn on the shower and then sit down, balancing on the edge of the tub with him on my lap. When the water hits our legs he really beginstocry.

"I know,sweetie, I know.We aregoingtosithereuntil thiswonderfulsteammakesyour chestfeelgood.

Do you want me to sing?" He just leans against me and cries and coughs as the steam fills the bright tilearoundus.

"I... want... my mommmmmm." He shudders with the effort, seemingly unaware that I am here. My pajama pants soak in the warm water. I drop my head against his, rocking slowly. Tears of exhaustion andworrydrip downmyfaceandintohis hair.

"Oh,Grove,I know. I wantmymom,too."

Thesunshinesinthroughtheshuttersaswe munchoncinnamontoastamongGraver's stuffedanimals.

"Sayitagain,Nanny.Sayit. iwomentoast."

I laugh and poke him gently in the tummy. His eyes are bright and clear and my relief at his 98.6 has madeusbothgiddy."No,G,cinnamon,come on. ayitwith me."

"Call it 'women toast.'You sayit with me? His handpats myhair absentmindedly as the crumbs dribble aroundus.

"Women toast?You crazykid,what's next?Meneggs?"

He giggles deeply at my joke. "Yeah! Men eggs! I'm so hungry, Nanny, I'm dying. Can I have some eggs. eneggs?"

I crawlover him,grabbinghisplateasI stand.

"h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo, Mommy's home!" I freeze. Grayer looks up at me and, like an excited puppy, scrambles togetdownfromthebed.Herunspastme andmeetshera.s.shecomes tohisdoor.

"h.e.l.lo! What are those crumbs doing all over your face?" She spatulas him and turns to me. I see the room through her eyes. Pillows, blankets, and wet towels all lying on the floor where I finally crashed whenGrayer fellasleepatsixthismorning.

"Grayer's beenpretty sick.We were uplatelast nightand?

"Well, he looks just fine now, except for those crumbs. Grayer, go in the bathroom and wash your face so I can showyou your present." He turns to me with wide eyes and skips to the bathroom. I'm amazed hecanevensetfootinthere.

"Didn't hetakehis medicine?"

"Yes, well,hehas twomoredays togo.Buthis coughgotreallybad.1triedtocall you."

She bristles. "Well, Nanny, I think we've discussed where we prefer for Grayer to eat. You can go now, I've got.i.tcovered."

I focus on smiling. "Okay, I'll just go and get changed." I walk past her with the plate in my hand, hardlyrecognizingtheapartmentfilled withsunlight. I stuffeverything intomybag,pullon 1 43.

jeansand a sweaterandleavethebedunmadeasmyoneact ofrebellion.

"Bye!" I call out, opening the door. I hear Grayer's naked feet hitting the marble as he runs out in his pajamasbeneath acowboyhatthatismuchtoobig. *

"Bye, Nanny!" He throws his arms open for a hug and I hold him tight, amazed at the difference a few hourshavemadeinhisbreathing.

"Mrs. X?Hestill has twomoredays of antibiotics so?

She emerges at the other end of the hall. "Well, we have a big day planned. e've got to get a haircut and go to Barneys to pick up a present for Daddy. Come on, Grayer, let's get dressed. Good-bye, Nanny."

My shift is over. oint taken. He follows her to his-room and I stand alone in the hall for a moment, pickup mybag,andoverride thetemptation toputtheantibiotics byher cellphone.

"Bye, partner."I pullthedoor closedquietly behindme.

The old nurse went upstairs exulting with knees toiling, and pat' ter of slapping feet, to tell the mistress ofher lord's return.

. DYSSEY.

CHAPTER SIX.

Love,ParkAvenueStyle I press down the backs.p.a.ce b.u.t.ton and watch as myfifth attempt at a topic sentence deletes itself letter byletter. JeanPiaget... whatto say, whattosay?

I slouch back, rolling my neck on the top of the chair, and stare out at the gray clouds drifting slowly above the roofs of the brown-stones across the street. George bats at my dangling hand. "Piaget," I say out loud, waiting for inspiration to hit as I dart my hand at him playfully. The phone rings and I let the machinepick itup.Either it'll be Mrs. X calling tocheckifI haveanylifebloodshehasn't suckedyet or mymothercallingtoweighinonthesituation.

"Hi,this isCharleneandNan.Leave amessage."

"Hey, workinggirl. 1 justwant? Myfavorite voice fills theroom andI reachacross mydesk to grab the phone.

"Hi,yourself."

"Hey!Whatareyoudoinghome atoneforty-three on aTuesday?"

"What are you doing, calling me all the way from Haa-vaad, at one forty-three on a Tuesday?" I push backmychairandtrace a widecircleonthehardwoodfloorwith mysocks.

"1 askedyoufirst."

"Well, turnsoutJeanGeorgeslosttheXes'reservationsfor Valentine's Day so she immediately sent me home with a typed-up list of four-star restaurants to hara.s.s."I lookover atmybackpack,wherethedoc.u.mentremains foldedaway.

"Whydidn't shejustcall themherself?"

"I havelongsinceceasedtoask why."

"So,wheredidyoumakethem?"

"Nowhere! Valentine's Day is tomorrow. I suppose she's in denial that these places only take reservations thirty days in advance and thatshe already made me spend Januaryfourteenth. Sunday, thankyouvery much. alling them.Andeventhen all I couldgetherwas a ten P.M; andI hadtoswear tothereservationiston myfirstbornthat I'd havethemout byeleven.Yup, nogo.They'll beluckytoget a booth at Burger King." I picture Mr. X absentmindedly dunking his fries in ketchup as he reads the businesssection.

"So haveyoufoundthepanties?"

"No.You're goingtobereallysadwhenwenolongerneedtotalkaboutpanties, aren't you?" Helaughs.

"Actually," I continue, "yesterday we had a false alarm in which yours truly dove headfirst onto Snoopy's magiciancapein a blindpanic."