The Nanny Diaries Part 2

Suffice it to say that the quirk factor sharply increases as one moves along the spectrum from A to C. The only thing predictable about training with a Type C mother is that her pervasive insecurity forces everyone totakethelongestpossibleroutetogettinginsync.

I pushopentheheavygla.s.sdoorof thepatisserieandseeMrs. Xalreadyseated,goingover her ownlist.

She stands, revealing a lavender knee-length skirt, which perfectly matches the cardigan tied around her shoulders. No longer in her youthful white shift, she looks older than she did in the park. Despite her girlish ponytail I'm guessing she's in her early forties. "Hi, Nanny, thanks so much for meeting me early. Wouldyoulikesomecoffee?"

"That sounds perfect, thank you," I say, taking a seat with my back to the wood-paneled wall and smoothingthedamasknapkinontomylap.

"Waiter,anothercafeau laitandcouldyoubringus abreadbasket?"

"Oh,youdon't needtodothat," I say.

"Oh, no, it's the best. That way you can pick what you want." The waiter brings over a Pierre Deux basketbr.i.m.m.i.n.g with breadsandlittlejarsof jam. I helpmyself to a brioche.

"They have the best pastry here," she says, taking a croissant. "Which reminds me, I prefer that Grayer stayawayfromrefinedflour."

"Of course,"I mumble,mouthfull.

"Didyouhave aniceweekend?"

I quicklyswallow. "Sarah. y bestfriendfromChapin. ada little farewell party last night before everyone goes back to school. Now it's just me and the California people. hohaveoff till October! Tell Grayer togotoStanford,"I laugh.

Shesmiles.

"So,why'd youtransferfromBrown?" sheasks,pulling oneclawoffhercroissant.

"They had a stronger child development program at NYU," I reply, trying to tread lightly here, in case I'm talkingto a steadfastBrownalum, choosingnottomentionthehumanexcrement intheloungenext tomyroom, oranyother of themyriad of charminganecdotesI couldshare.

"I reallywantedtogotoBrown,"shesays.

"Oh?"

"But I won a scholarship to UConn." She drops the croissant to play with the diamond heart dangling fromher necklace.

"That's great," 1 say, trying toimagine a time whenshewouldhaveneeded ascholarship todoanything.

"Well, I'm fromConnecticut,so..."

"Oh!Connecticut'sbeautiful,"I say.

She glances down at her plate. "Actually, it was New London so ... Well, after graduation I moved here torunGagosian. heartgallery."Shesmiles again.

"Wow. hatmust havebeenamazing."

"It was a lot of fun," she says, nodding, "but you can't really do it when you have a child. t's a full- time life,parties, trips, a lotof shmoozing, a lotof latenights?

A woman in dark Jackie O sungla.s.ses accidentally b.u.mps our table as she pa.s.ses, causing the china saucerstoteeterprecariouslyonthemarble.

"Binky?" Mrs. X asks,reachinguptotouchthewoman's arm asI steadythecups.

"Oh, my G.o.d. Hi, I didn't even see you there,"the woman says, lowering her dark gla.s.ses. Her eyes are swollen anddamp fromcry!ing. "I'm sorryI couldn't come toGrayer's birthdayparty. Consuelasaidit wasfabulous."

"I've beenmeaningtocall," Mrs. Xsays. "Is thereanythingI cando?"

"Not unless you know a hit man." She pulls a handkerchief out of her Tod's purse and blows her nose. "That lawyer Gina Zucker-man recommended couldn't help at all. It turns out all our a.s.sets are actually in Mark's company's name. He's getting the apartment, the yacht, the house in East Hampton. I'm getting four hundred thousand flat. hat's it." Mrs. X swallows and Binky continues tearfully. "And I have to supply complete receipts for every penny of child support spent. I mean, really.Am I supposed togetmyfacialsatBabyGap?"

"That's appalling."

"Then the judge had the nerve to tell me to go back to work! He has no idea what it means to be a mom."

"Noneof themdo,"Mrs. Xsays,tappingher listforemphasis,while I stareintentlyatmybrioche.

"If I had known he was going to go this far, I would have just turned a blind? Binky's voice breaks and she purses her glossy lips together to clear her throat. "Well, I've gotta run. onsuela has another 'appointment' for her hip replacement." She speaks with venom. "I swear, it's the third one this month. I'm really losing patience with her. Anyway, great to see you." She pushes her sungla.s.ses back into placeand,with anair kiss, disappearsthroughthecrowdawaitingtables.

"Well..." Mrs. X stares after her, her face locked briefly into a grimace before returning her attention to me. "Well, let's just go over the week. I've typed this all up for you, so you can review it later. We'll walk over to school now, so Grayer can seeus together and get the sensethatI'm trusting you with him. That should relax him. He has a play date at one-thirty, so that'll give you just enough time to have lunchinthepark andyet not overwhelmhim. Then tomorrow you and Caitlin can both spend the afternoon with him, so you can get a sense of his routine and he can see the authority being shared between you. I'd appreciate it if you didn't discuss the transitionwith heratthis point."

"Of course,"I say, trying toabsorb itall, thebrioches,thebriefing,Binky. "Thankyouforbreakfast."

"Oh, don't mention it." She stands, pulling a blue folder that says "Nanny" out of her Hermes bag and sliding it across the table. "I'm so glad Tuesdays and Thursdays fit into your cla.s.s schedule. I think it'll be great for Grayer to have someone young and fun to play with.'m sure he gets tired of boring old Mom!"

"Grayer seemsgreat," I say, recallinghis giggles inthepark.

"Well, hehashis littlethings,likeanykid,I suppose."

I gather my bag, glancing down and noticing her lavender silk heels for the first time. "G.o.d, those are beautiful!AretheyPrada?" Iask, recognizingthesilver buckle.

"Oh, thank you." She turns her ankle. "Yes, they are. You really like them?" I nod. "You don't think they're too ... loud?"

"Oh,no,"I say, followingher outof thecafe.

"My best friend just had a baby and her feet went up a whole size. She let me pick out what I wanted, but I... I don't know." She glances down at her shoes in consternation as we wait for the light. "I guess I've justgottenusedtowearingflats."

"No,they're great.You shoulddefinitely keepthem."

Shesmiles, delighted,a.s.sheslidesonhersungla.s.ses.

Mrs. b.u.t.ters, Grayer's teacher, smiles at me and shakes my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you." She looks down adoringly. "You are going to love Grayer, he's a very special little boy." She pats her corduroy ap.r.o.n dress, which fits loosely over her puffed-sleeve blouse. With her round,dimpled cheeks andplump, dimpledhandsshelooksmuchlike afour-year-oldherself.

"Hi,Grayer!" I say, smilingdownatthetop of his blondhead.He's wearing a littlewhite oxfordb.u.t.ton!down Poloshirt, untuckedon oneside, containingthe evidence of a morninghard atwork: finger paint, whatlookslikeglue,andonelonemacaroni. "Howwa.s.schooltoday?"

"Grayer, you remember Nanny? You two are going to have lunch at the playground!" his mother prompts him.

Heslumpsagainsther legandglares atme. "Go away."

"Honey, we can have snack together, but Mommy has an appointment.You two are going to have such a goodtime!Nowhop inyourstroller andNannywill give yousnack."

As we approach the playground he and I both listen attentively to the long list of Grayer's Likes and Dislikes: "He loves the slide, but the monkey bars bore him. Don't let him pick anything up off the ground. elikes todothat.Andpleasekeephimawayfromthedrinkingfountainbytheclock."

"Urn, what should I do if he needs to use the bathroom? Where should he go?" I ask as we pa.s.s under thedustywoodenarchesof theSixty-sixth Streetplayground.

"Oh,anywhere."

I'm justabouttoaskfor a littleclarification onthepeeingthingwhenher cellphonerings.

"Okay, Mommy's gotta go," she says, snapping her Startac closed. Her departure is like the suicide drills from gym cla.s.s. very time she gets just a few feet farther away, Grayer cries and she scurries back, admonishing, "Now, let's be a big boy." Only once Grayer is in complete hysterics does she look ather watchandwith a"NowMommy's goingtobelate" isgone.

We sit on the only empty bench in the shade, while he sniffles, and eat our sandwiches, which have some sortof vegetable spreadin themand, I think,unbologna.As he raises his sleeve towipe his nose I notice for the first time, dangling from beneath his untucked shirttails, what appears to be a business cardpinnedtohis beltloop.

I reachout. "Grayer,what'swith the?

"Hey!" He swats my hand away. "That's my card." It's dirty and bent and has clearly been around the block afew times,butI thinkI canmakeout Mr. X's nameinfadedtype.

"Whosecardis that,Grayer?"

"You know." He pounds his forehead, exasperated by my ignorance. "My card. Jeez. Push me on the swings!"

By the time we're done eating and I've given him a few pushes it's time for us to walk over to his play date. I wave as he runs into the apartment. "Okay, bye, Grayer! See you tomorrow!" He screeches to a halt, turns around, sticks his tongue out at me and then runs off. "Okay, have fun!" I smile at the other nannyasif tosay"Oh,that?That's justourtonguegame!"

Once I'm on the subway to school I pull out the blue folder, which has my pay envelope paper-clipped inside.

MRS. X.

721PARKAVENUE,APT. 9B.

NEWYORK, N.Y., 10021.

DearNanny, Welcome! Theattachedis acopyofGrayer. scheduleofafter-schoolactivities. Caitlinwillshow you theroutine, but I. sureyou. ebeentomostoftheseplacesbefore! Letmeknowifyouhave anyquestions.

Thanks,Mrs. X p.s. ?I. ealsoincludeda listof somepossiblefunactivities p.p.s. I reallyprefer itif Grayer doesn. nap intheafternoons I glanceatthescheduleandshe's right.'m aveteran of every activity onthelist. MONDAY 2-2:45: Music lesson, Diller Quaile, 95th Street between Park and Madison (Parents pay an astronomical sum for this prestigious music school where four'jear'olds usually sit in stone-cold silence astheircaregivers singnurseryrhymes in a circle.) 5-5:45: Mommy & Me,92ndStreetY onLexington (Asthenameimplies,mothersareexpectedtogo.Nevertheless, half of the groupisnannies.) TUESDAY 4-5:00: Swimming lesson atAsphalt Green, 90th Street and East EndAvenue (One emaciated woman in aChanelswimsuit andfive nanniesinmuumuus all pleadingwith toddlersto "Getinthewater!") WEDNESDAY 2-3:00: Physical educationatCATS,ParkAvenueat64thStreet (Deepinthebowels of acold, dankchurchthatsmells likefeet,thoroughly ch.o.r.eographedgamesforthepint-sized athlete.) 5-5:45: Karate,92ndStreetY onLexington (Kids who quake with fear do fifty push-ups on their knuckles as a warm-up.The one cla.s.s daddies attend.) THURSDAY.

2-2:45: Pianolessonathome with Ms. Schrade("Music" tobetorturedby.) 5-6:00: FrenchCla.s.s,AllianceFrancaise,60thStreetbetweenMadisonand Park (Standardafterschoolactivities conductedinanotherlanguage.) THE NANNY DIARIESFRIDAY.

1-1:40: Ice skating,The Ice Studio, Lexington between 73rd and 74th Street (Coldas f.u.c.k. nd damp.

Struggle through a thirty-minute "Changeof Terror," sharp metal blades flying everywhere, sochildren cangetoniceforfortyminutesandcome backouttochangeagain.) I will letyouknowwhenheisscheduledforthe: Optician Orthodontist Orthodicfittings Physical therapist Ayurvedic pract.i.tioner Intheeventof a cla.s.s cancellationthefollowing "nonstructured"outingsare permissible: TheFrick TheMet TheGuggenheimSoho TheMorganLibrary TheFrench CulinaryInst.i.tute TheSwedishConsulate OrchidRoomof theBotanicalGarden NewYork StockExchangeTradingFloor TheAngelika(PreferablytheGerman Expressionistseries,butanything with subt.i.tleswill do.) I shrug and open the envelope, thrilled to discover that despite only working two hours, she's paid me for the whole day. The Envelope is a major perk of being a nanny. Traditionally, we're kept off the books and dealt with strictly in cash, which always keeps me hoping she'll stick in an extra twenty. A girl I knew lived-in with a family whose father slipped a few hundred dollars under her door whenever his wife dranktoomuchand "caused ascene."It's like waiting tables. oujustnever knowwhenthecustomer mightbeoverwhelmed withappreciation.

"Caitlin? Hi, I'm Nanny,"I say. Mrs. X toldme thatmycolleague is blond andAustralian, which makes her fairlyeasy topick outamid theseaof facesthathavehadworkdoneandthefacesthatare doingthe work.I recognizeherfrom theXes'photosessioninthepark.

She looks up from where she sits on the school steps, sensibly outfitted in an Izod shirt and jeans, a sweatshirt tied round her waist. She's holding Grayer's apple juice in her right hand with the straw alreadyin it. I'm impressed.

Just as she stands to return my greeting, our charge and his cla.s.smates are released by his teacher and the courtyard becomes instantly animated. Grayer comes streaking through the crowd toward Caitlin, butscreechesto ahaltwhenheseesme,his enthusiasmvisibly drainingoutthroughhis Keds.

"Grayer, Nanny'11 be coming to the park with us this afternoon. on't that be fun?" I sense from her tone that she isn't quite convinced we're in for a laugh riot. "He's always a bit cranky when school lets out,buthegetsover itfineoncehe's hadhis snack."

"I'm sure."

It is chaos around us aschildren are snackedand play dates are made. I'm impressed by the finessewith whichsheworksGrayer fromsnacktostrollertogood-byes. Hemaintainsscreamingconversationwith three of his cla.s.smates while getting a sweater put on, a Baggie opened, homework unpinned from his lapel, and a stroller strapped under him. She's like a puppeteer, keeping the play in motion. I debate takingnotes. "Righthandonstroller handle,lefthandpulldownsweater,twostepsleftandsquat."

We headtoward theparkastheychatter away. Shepropelshim forward with ease, though he can't be a light load with his sand toys, school stuff, and backup supplies of snack.

"Grayer,who's yourbestfriendatschool?"I ask.

"Shut up, stupidhead," he says, kicking out at my shins. I walk the remainder of the way well outside his fieldof stroller vision.

After lunch Caitlin takes me around to meet the other nannies in the playground, most of whom are Irish, Jamaican, or Filipino. They each give me a quick, cold appraisal and I get the sense I won't be making alotof friendshere.

"So whatdoyoudoduringtheweek?" sheaskssuspiciously.

"I'm asenioratNYU,"I say.

"I couldn't figure out how she found someone who only wanted to work weekends." What? Weekends what?

She reties her ponytail while she continues. "I'd do it, but I wait tables on the weekends and, really, one needs a bit of a break by Friday. I thought they had a girl who worked weekends in the country, but I guess she didn't work out. Are you planning on driving out with them to Connecticut on Friday nights or takingthetrain?" ShelookspointedlyatmeasI starebackatherinconfusion.

Thenit is suddenlyclearto both of us whywe aren't meant to discuss the "transition." I'm not the pinch hitter,I'm thereplacement.A sadnessflickersover herfeatures.

I reachtochangethesubject. "So,what's with thecard?"

"Oh, that grotty old thing." She swallows. "He carries it everywhere. He'll be wanting it pinned to his trousers and in his pajamas. It drives the Mrs. crazy, but he refuses to so much as put on his underpants without.i.t."Sheblinks a fewtimes andthenturnsaway.

We make it full circle back to the sandbox where another family, who I a.s.sume from their matching sh.e.l.l suitsandoverwhelming zestforlifearetourists,is playing.

"He's so cute. Is he your only child?" the mother asks in a flat Midwestern accent. I'm twenty-one. He's four.

"No,I'm his?

"I told you to get out of here, you bad woman!" Grayer hurls his stroller at me, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Blood rushes to my face as I retort with false confidence, "You ... silly!" The tourist clan focus intently on agroup sand-castleproject.

I consider taking a playground poll as to whether I should "get out" and, if I choose not to, does this, in fact,makeme a"badwoman"?

Caitlin rights the stroller as if his throwing it were part of a fabulous game we're playing. "Well, looks to me like somebody has a bit of energy and wants me to catch him!" She chases him all over the playground, laughing deeply. He slides down the slide and she catches him. He hides behind the monkey bars and she catches him. There is a lot of catching overall. I start to chase her as she chases him, butgive upwhenhelookspleadinglyintomyeyes, moaning "STOaaaooop."I walkto a bench.As I watch themplayI haveto handit to her. She has perfectedthemagic act thatis child care, creating the illusionof aneffortlessrelationship; shecouldbehis mother.

Eventually, Caitlin drags him over to me with a Frisbee in hand. "Well now,Grayer, whydon't we teach Nanny the Frisbee game?" We stand in triangular formation as she tosses the Frisbee to me. I catch it and toss it to Grayer, who gracefully receives it by sticking out his tongue and turning his back to both of us. I pick up the Frisbee from where it has landed by his feet and toss it back to her. She throws it to himandhecatchesitandthrowsitbackto her. It seemstotakehours,thishaltingcircuit thatcomes to a full stop whenever contact is required between him and me. He simply denies thatI exist and sticks out his tongue at any effort to prove otherwise. We play on and on because she wants to make it right and thinks maybe she can wear him down to the point where he will at least toss me a Frisbee. I think we have all setoursightsjust alittletoohigh.

Three days later, just as I bend over to pick up the grubby little sneaker Grayer has hurled into the Xes' marbleentryway,thefrontdoorslamsbehindmewith a loudbang.I jerkupright,still holdinghis shoe.

"s.h.i.t."

"I heard you! You said 's.h.i.t.' You said it!" m.u.f.fled sounds of a gleeful Grayer make their way through theheavydoor.

I steadymyvoice andreachfor a low, authoritative octave. "Grayer,openthedoor."

"No! I can stick my fingers out at you and you can't see. I got my thung thitikin out, too." He's sticking his tongueoutatme.

Okay, options. Option One, knock on crotchety-matron-across-the-way's door. Right, what am I going todothen?CallGrayer?Invite himover fortea?Hislittle fingerssweepoutbeneaththedoor.

"Nanny, try to catch my fingers! Do it! Do it! Come on, catch "em!" I concentrate every muscle on not steppingonthem.