The Nanny Diaries Part 21

"Maybe if you'd spend an hour of your precious time with us he might have done better in his interviews," shespits back.

"My precious time? My precious time? I am bashing my brains out eighty hours a week so you can stand there in your pearls, with your eight-thousand-dollar curtains and your 'charity work,' and questionhowI spendmytime?!Who's goingtopayhis tuitionbills, huh?You?" "Honey." She softens. "I know you're under a lot of pressure. Look, since you're already home, why don't we talk about it over a nice relaxing dinner? I made a reservation at that place you love, down by the river." Her kitten heels make little clicks as she walks over to him. Her voice drops. "We could get a roomatthePierre,maybetheonewiththedoubleJacuzzibath ... I've reallymissedyou."

It's quiet for a minute and thenI distinctly hear the sound of themkissing. Their lowlaughter drifts into thehallway.

I'm just about to sneak off to Grayer's room when Mrs. X coos{ "Should I send a donation to St.

Bernard's with thetuitioncheck,sowe getoffontherightfootwith them?"

"Therightfoot?" He's againindignant. "Correctme ifI'm wrong,buthaven't theyalreadyacceptedhim?

"Butifwehaveanotherboy?

"Look, I've got to get back to the office. The car's waiting downstairs. I'll call you later." Mr. X swiftly pa.s.ses me,still wearingtheovercoathepresumablynever took off. Thedoor slamsloudlybehindhim. "Daddy? WAIT!!!!" Grayer comes running out with his red train. "DADDY!!!" He throws himself, screaming,againstthefrontdoor.

Mrs. X walks slowly into the hall and stands for a moment, glaring through Grayer at the front door until hereyes glazeover,thenwalksrightpastbothofustoherbedroom.

"DADDY.1.'.'" He convulses with sobs, bending over, while holding tightly onto the doork.n.o.b. "1 WANT DADDY.'.'!" I sit down on the floor and reach out to hold him. He drops his head between his danglingarmsandawayfromme. "NOOOoooo.I wantmyDADDY!!!"We heartheelevator doorslide closed. "DON'TLEAVE.'.'.'.'"

"Ssshhh, 1 know." I circle my arms to pull him onto my lap. "I know, Grove." We sit on the floor as his tearsmake adark, wetspotonthekneeofmyjeans.I rubhis backandmurmur, "It's okay,Grove. Shhh, it's okaytobesad.We'll justsithereandbesadfor alittle while."

"Okay,"hesays intomypantleg.

"Okay."

PART THREE.

Mammy had her own method of letting her owners know exactly where she stood on all matters. She knewitwasbeneaththedignityofquality white folkstopaytheslightestattentiontowhat adarkysaid, even when she was just grumbting to herself. She knew that to uphold this dignity, they must ignore whatshesaid,even ifshestoodinthenextroomandalmost shouted.

. ONEWITHTHEWIND.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Frosting ontheCake Connie, RatherthanironingGrayer. sheetstoday,I. likeyoutopackthefollowingitems for Mr. X. Hissutis Shirts Ties Underwear Socks Andanythingelseheuses. Theseitemsshouldbepackedanddownwiththedoormanbythree o. lock. Pleaseseethatouonlyusehisluggage(seemonogram).

"Nanny, have you seen Grayer's bow tie? I put it out last night." Mrs. X and Grayer are due at theApril Tea forNewSt. Bernard's Families intwentyminutes. Mrs. XisrummagingthroughGrayer's drawers while I try to wrestle him into an ultrastarched oxford, complete with stays in the collar, and Connie, I a.s.sume, issomewherein Mr. X's closetfillinghis monogrammedluggage.

"I needanelephant," Grayersays, pointingtothesketchpadonhis diminutive table.

"Onesecond,Grayer,"1 say, "Let mebuckleyourbelt?

"No,notthatone."ShesticksherheadoutfromGrayer's walk-in closet.

"That's theoneyouputout." I add, "Onthebed.Sorry."

"It doesn't go."

Kneeling down in front of him, I look him over. luepinstriped shirt, khaki pants, white socks, brown belt. I don't seetheproblem, butI unbucklehim.

"Here,"shesays,handingme a greenandredstripedcanvasbelt.

I pointdownatthebeltbuckle. "See,GforGrayer."

"G?" he asks, looking down. "I need my card." I reach for the bus-pa.s.s holder on the dresser, which containsthevestigesof Mr. X's businesscard.

"No,"shesays, emerging fromthecloset. "Nottoday. It's liketheinterviews. Remember theinterviews?

Nocard."

"I wantmycard!"

"You cankeepitinyourpocketlike asecretagent," I say, tuckingitoutofsight.

"I still can't findhis f-ingbowtie."

"Nanny, I need an elephant." I pick up a gray crayon and draw an amorphous blob with big ears and a trunk,theextentofmyartistic expertise. Shestartsthrowingties outofthecloset.

"I wanttowearmytie,"hesays, referringtotheonethathangstothefloor.

"No. Not today." She goes storming out into the entrance hall where I can hear her voice echo off the marble. "CONNIE!CONNIE.'"

"Yes, ma'am?" Grayeris quiet,I keepmycrayoninmotion.

"I havejustspenthalfanhour lookingforGrayer's bowtie. Doyouhappentoknowwhere itis?"

"No,ma'am."

"Is ittoomuchtoaskthatyoukeeptrackofGrayer's clothes?DoI havetobeontopofeverything?The one thing I delegate to you? She sighs heavily and then there's a moment of silence. "Why are you standingthere?Golookforit!"

"I'm sorry,I justdon't knowwhere itcouldbe, ma'am. I put.i.tinhis roomwith theotherones."

"Well, it's not there.And this is the second time that a piece of Grayer's clothing has gone missing this month. Now, if you're feeling that this is all too much responsibility for you, I'm sure we can rethink yourrolehere."

"No,ma'am. I'll lookfor it. It's justthattheclothes,needtobepackedbythreeandit's two-thirty now. If Mr. X needsthem?

"Are you questioning who you workfor?You workfor me.AndI am telling youto lookfor thetie.And ifthis confusesyou,pleaseletme know. Because,asfarasI canrecall,I am theonewhopays you!" I stand up shakily and start going through Grayer's closet myself. He comes and stands beside me, leaninghis headagainstmyhip.Conniejoins usinGrayer's room,pulling thecloset doorfurtheropen.

"Connie, I'll lookhere,"I saysoftly. "You takethelaundryroom."

As she crosses back through the front hall Mrs. X continues. "We could call Mr. X and see which he gives more of a s.h.i.tabout,whether his clothes get packedor whetherhis sonhas therightf.u.c.kingtie to weartohisnewschool!Maybehe'll talktoyou.Maybehe'll takeyourcall, Connie."

"I'm sorry,ma'am." Five minutesofthorough,breathless searchinguncovers nothing.

"Anything?" Mrs. X's faceappearswhere shehasliftedthedustruffle.

"No,sorry,"I sayfromunderGrayer's bed.

"G.o.ddammit! Grayer, come on, we have to go. Just put him in the one with the green polka dots." I slideout onmystomach.

"I wantmydaddy's tie!" Hetriestoreachforthepegwherehis father's tiehangs.

"No, G. You canwearitlater."I gentlypull his handaway,tryingtomotivate himtowardthedoor.

"I want.i.tnow!" Hestartstosob,redblotchesappearingonhis face.

"Shh, please, Grove?" 1 kiss his damp cheek and he stands still, tears making their way down into the starchedcollar. I straightentheknotandgototakehiminmyarms,buthepushesme away.

"No!"Andherunsoutof theroom.

"Nanny?" Mrs. Xcalls,shrilly.

"Yes?" I walktothehall.

"We'll bebackatfourintime foriceskating.Connie?" SheshakesherheadasConnieemergesfrom the laundryroom, asifsheis simplytoodisgustedanddisappointedtospeak. "I justdon't knowwhatto say. It seems tome we are having thesesortsof problems on a regularbasis nowandI needyou to do some seriousthinkingaboutyour commitment leveltothisjob?

Mrs. X's cellphoneemits a sharpring. "h.e.l.lo?" she answers while motioning for me to help her on with her mink. "Oh, hi, Justine ... Yes, they'll be down by three ... Yes, you can tell him she's packed everything ..." She walks away from us into the vestibule. "Oh, Justine? Could you see that I get his room number at the Yale Club?... In case Grayer has an emergency and I need to get a hold of him . .. Well, why would I call you? She takes a deep breath. "Well, I'm glad you see that doesn't make any sense ... Frankly, I don't want your apology. What I want is my husband's phone number ... I refuse to discuss this with you!" She slams her cell phoneclosedwith suchforcethat.i.tdropstothemarble floor.

Both women kneel to grab the phone just as the elevator door opens, but Mrs. X gets there first. With a shakinghandshepicksit I 99.

up and drops it into her clutch. She puts her other hand to the floor to steady herself, her icy blue eyes even with Connie's brown ones. "We seem to be unable to communicate, Connie," she hisses through clenched teeth. "So let me be crystal clear. I want you to gather your things and get out of my house. I wantyouout ofmyhouse.That's whatI want."

Shestandswith a shakeofher minkandpushes a stunnedGrayerintotheelevator asthedoorcloses.

Conniepulls herselfup bythefoyer tableandwalkspast mebackintotheapartment.

I take a moment tocollect myself beforeslowlyshuttingthefrontdoor.

I walk through the kitchen and find Connie standing with her back to me in the maid's room, her broad shouldersquivering inthesmall s.p.a.ce. "G.o.d,Connie.Areyouokay?" I ask quietlyinthedoorway.

She turns to me. er pain and outrage so rawly palpable on her face that I'm struck silent. She slumps downontheoldtweedfold-outcouchandundoesthetopb.u.t.tonofher whiteuniform.

"I've been here twelve years," she says, shaking her head. "I was here before her and I thought I'd be hereafter."

"Do you want something to drink?" I ask, stepping into the narrow gap between the couch and the ironingboard. "Some juicemaybe?I couldtrytogetintotheliquorcabinet."

"She wants me to leave? She wants me to leave?" I sit down on Mrs. X's steamer trunk. "I've wanted to leavesincethefirstdayshegothere," shesnorts,reachingfor a half-ironedT-shirt andwiping hereyes. "Let me tell you something. hen they went to Lyford whatever. didn't get paid. I never get paid when they go away. Not my fault they're on vacation. I'm not on vacation. I still have three kids and plenty of bills to pay. And this year. his year. he asked him to declare me! They never declare me! Where am I supposedtocome upwith thatkindof moneynow?I hadtoborrowmoneyfrom mymother to pay all thesetaxes."She sits back and pulls offher ap.r.o.n. "When Mrs. X and Grayer flew totheBahamaslastyearandI wasgoingtheretootoseemyfamily,shemademeflywith them. Grayer spilled juice all over hisself at takeoff and she didn't have a change for him and he's sitting there cold and wet and crying and she just pull on that sleep thing over her eyes and ignore him the whole flight. And I didn't getpaid forthat!Oh, was I mad. hat's whyI'm not a nanny.You ever hearaboutJackie?" I shakemyhead. "Jackie washisbabynurse,butshestayed tillGrayer wastwo."

"Whathappenedtoher?"

"Well, she got a boyfriend. That's what happened to her." I look at her quizzically. "For two years she just worked, she'd only been here maybe a few years and didn't have too many friends. So she practically lived here and she and Mrs. X got on okay. I think they got together about Mr. X traveling and Jackie dating no one special?you know, man troubles. But then Jackie met someone. e looked like Bob Marley. nd now she can't work Friday nights and she don't like to work the weekend if the Xesdon't beinConnecticut. SoMrs. Xstartsinwith howinconveniencedsheis. Butreally,shejealous. Jackie had that glow, you know. She had that look about her and Mrs. X couldn't stand it. So she fired her. NearlybrokeGrayer's heart.Afterthat. ewaslike a littledevil child."

"Wow." I take adeepbreath.

"Oh, you ain't heard the bad part. Jackie called me six months later. She couldn't get a new job because Mrs. X wouldn't give her a reference.You know, no reference, they think Jackie stole or something. So she got two years missing on her resume. And the agency didn't want to send her out no more." She stands up and wipes her hands slowly down her skirt. "That woman is pure evil. They have six nannies in four months before Caitlin. o one stayed. And one got fired for giving him a corn m.u.f.fin in the park. Don't you never feed him if you want to keep your job, you hear?And Mr. X. eeps p.o.r.n in his shoecloset,thenaaastykind."

I'm trying totakethis all in. "Connie,I'm sosorry."

"Don't you be sorry for me." She tosses the crumpled t-shirt onto the couch and marches with purpose intothekitchen. "You just.w.a.tch outforyourself."I followher.

She opens one of the empty Delft cookie jars on the counter and pulls out a handful of black lace, slammingit downonthetableinfrontofme.

PANTIES!.

"AndI foundtheseunderthebed?

"Rightunderthebed?" I can't help asking.

She tilts her headdownat me. "Mm-hm. Nowhe's got theother one running all aroundhere, acting like she owns the place. It took me two days to get the stink of her perfume out of here before Mrs. X got back."

"Shouldsomebodytellher? Doyou thinksomebody shouldtellMrs. X aboutthis woman?" I ask, dizzy with reliefatfinallybeingabletoconsult acolleague.

"Now, you listen here.Ain't you beenhere for the last hour?It's not myproblem.And don't you make it your problem, either. It's none of our business. Now you better pack up Mr. X's things. gotta get out ofhere."Shereachesaroundandunties herap.r.o.n,droppingitontothecounter.

"So,whatareyougonnado?"

"Oh, my sister, she works up the block, she always knows people who are lookin' for housekeepers and whatnot. I'll findsomething.It'll belessmoney,ifthat'spossible. But I'll findsomething. I always do."

She walks into the maid's room to collect her things, leaving me staring down at the black silk thong, screaminglikeprofanegraffitiagainstthepeachmarbletable.

Nanny, Todayyouhave aplaydatewithCarteraftertennis. Pleasebetherebythree. TheMiltonslive at10 East67thStreetandI thinkyou. lbestayingforsupper. I. havingdinneratBolo.

I still can. findGrayer. bowtie. Didyoutakeithome? Pleasecheck.

Thanks.

Grayer is still crying when we finally get a cab. While I'm not allowed to walk him down doormanless side streets, his after-school activities routinely maroon us in desolate, cabless neighborhoods where any minute I'll be forced to choose between Grayer or my life. I haul him into the taxi, throw the tennis racketinafter him,andpulltherestof theequipment inwith me.

"Sixty-seventh andMadison,please."I lookatGrove. "How's yourhead?Anybetter?"

"It's okay." He slows down to a whimper, but it sounds like a whimper with staying power. He was lookingthewrongwaywhentheproturnedontheballfeeder.

"How about golf, G? I think we should try golf. Smaller b.a.l.l.s, less damage." He looks up at me with wet eyes. "Come here." He leans across the seat and puts his head in my lap. I run my fingers through his hair and play with his ears just like my mom used to do. The motion of the car soothes him and beforeweeven reachMid-town he's asleep.Hemust bewiped.What adifferentlifewe'd all beliving if hewasonlyallowedtonap.

I pullbackmyraincoatsleeve tolookatmywatch.Whatwill anextrafifteenminutesmatter?

"Driver? Can you make a loop up to 110 and then back down theWest Side and across the Sixty-eighth Street transverse?"

"Sure, lady. Whateveryou say," I lookoutthewindowatthe 2O3.

grayskyand pull mycoatcloser aroundme as round raindrops.h.i.t the windshield,still waiting forApril showerstofeelliketheycouldleadtoMayflowers.

"Grover, wake up. We're here." He's a little groggy and wiping his eyes when I press the town house's doorbell, theracketslungover myshoulder.