“Let’s just say I went to the mall to buy the skinny tie, high tops, hair gel, and some lube.”
I chuckle at that—well aware that he’s kidding but also completely aware that I would probably do anything he wanted me to. “That’s really thoughtful of you, thanks. You are so wizard.”
“You are so welcome.” He kisses the top of my head, and I rest my forehead against his chest. “Never, ever speak of this to Nico.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
“Don’t worry. I’m used to not talking about you with my brother. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
“You can, you know?”
“Can what?”
“Talk about me with people. I was thinking we should tell the twins, since Margo knows.”
Oh God, my cheeks are burning. First the slow dancing with Greyson Manning and now this? It’s too much. “Knows what?”
“About us. That we’re…going to Homecoming together.”
I look up at his handsome face and see that patented Disney Channel star expression—so earnest and yet playful.
“Well, I would love to. But I think we should wait until I’m not working for you anymore. So it’s less confusing.”
“For them or for you?”
“Both.”
“Are you confused?”
“About you? Never. Not when I’m with you, anyway. That’s the problem. I always feel so sure of things, even though I can’t really know for sure.”
“What’ll it take for you to know for sure? Because I don’t dress up as Greyson Manning and buy lube for everyone. You’re the first, since the show was cancelled, and hopefully the last.”
I tug on that skinny tie around his neck and bring his lips to mine.
“I just want to finish being your nanny before I’m officially something else. Okay?”
He nods once, eyes closed. “You really are something else, though,” he whispers. “I wish I could have taken you to Homecoming. And prom. And the Kids’ Choice Awards. And the Golden Globes. And my movie premieres. I wish I could have taken you to France.”
“Is that a euphemism for something?”
“Yes. And no.”
“You know where you can take me now?” I ask as I unbutton his shirt.
“Where? Name it and I’ll take you there.”
“Bed.”
“You really are a swell girl.”
* * *
We had to leave that amazing bed in Santa Barbara eventually, and now that we’re back in the Pacific Palisades and I don’t have to look after the kids, I am using my free time to visit a few of the fancy boutiques in the village to see if the owners will stock a few bottles of my perfume oil. The first attempt was a bust, even though the lady seemed to really love the fragrance and was super interested in hearing about my Scent Design and Creation degree and the education of a perfumer in general. I left her with samples, a business card, and a pamphlet that I had printed up—with my logo and pretty pictures and little stories about my fragrances and the ingredients. It’s a great package. I’m a great package! I just don’t get LA store owners. How many more degrees does a girl need to get a break around here?
Now I’m in a pretty shop that sells fashionable organic clothing and handmade jewelry as well as a small selection of scented candles, organic cosmetics and perfume. If any shop in this neighborhood should be selling Aura perfume oils, it’s this one. I do a lap around the store, looking at the displays. A tanned blonde woman who is probably in her fifties comes by to welcome me and asks if she can help me with anything, and miracle of miracles—she tells me that I smell amazing.
I tell her that it’s my own perfume blend called Sleeper and that I just happen to have a sample of it right here. I ask if she’s the owner of the store, and she is. I don’t launch into a hard sell or anything. It’s very conversational, and Christina seems really interested. She asks to see the bottles and loves everything she smells. But when I ask if she’d be interested in carrying a few bottles of each fragrance in her store, she says she’s not really looking to stock more perfume right now.
And then I hear the bell above the door jingle, and when the lady looks over my shoulder, her face lights up. “Well hello, stranger!” she says, hand on her hip. “Long time no see, you!”
I glance over to get a look at who she’s ignoring me for, and wouldn’t you know it? Shane Miller is strolling towards us, lifting his aviator glasses to the top of his head and grinning. “Been waiting for a special occasion to buy a new dress. You know how it is.”
“Ohhh! I mean I haven’t seen you at breakfast in ages. The kids on spring break?”
“They are, yeah. I was just checking on Willa.” He comes over to put his arm around me. I don’t have a fucking clue how he found me here, but I did tell him I was going to scout out the boutiques in the Palisades. “Oh, you got your perfumes out.”
“Yeah. Do we have to get ready for your screening?”
“No, we have a little time. Are you going to be stocking Willa’s perfume here, Christina? They’re selling like hotcakes on Etsy. She just sold a fragrance design to Margo—they’re going to sell it on her website later this year.”
“Well, we were just discussing that, actually. They smell fantastic, and I’m very interested. Let’s discuss prices.”
And just like that, Christina and I are discussing prices and filling out paperwork.
When I leave the store with Shane, I’m carrying nine fewer bottles of roll-on perfume oil than I had walked in with.
I wait until we’ve turned the corner and started walking back toward home to slap his arm. “How did you know I’d be there?”
“Process of deduction. I’d already been to the other two stores that looked like the kind of place you’d want to sell your stuff in.”
“You know, she was not at all interested in selling my stuff until you walked in.”
He rests his arm around my shoulder again. “This is LA, babe. Celebrity endorsement is the name of the game. No matter what game you’re playing.”
“Well, thank you. Part of me was really looking forward to walking in there with you tomorrow if she had turned me down outright and I’d ask if she worked on commission, and then I’d say, ‘Big mistake. Huge!’”
“Your perfume will sell itself one day. I just wanted to help in any way I could. Hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t. I hope I can return the favor. Ha-ha.”
“Well, you can. Just go easy on me and the movie tonight.”
“I’m not that big of an asshole! Are you really worried that I won’t like it?”
“I don’t know, I’ve been talking it up. I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“I don’t think you could ever disappoint me, Shane.”
Unless you marry someone else again.
* * *
We’re in a small screening room at some fancy private Hollywood club called SoHo House, on Sunset Boulevard. We have a drink at the bar first. Everyone looks like they just had a facial and a hair appointment, and I recognize every third person I see here. Shane introduces me simply by name, to his agent and the producers and writer-director, a couple of his costars. But he has his hand around my waist almost the whole time we’re standing together.
The film is called Hard Shell, and Shane is the lead. He “carries” the film, as his agent said, but there are some amazing middle-aged and older character actors, and the teenager who plays his nephew is fantastic. It’s about this sarcastic, troubled, but privileged teenage boy who runs away from home to stay with his very young uncle who lives in Maine. The kid’s workaholic dad comes out from New York to get him, and you see the strained and awkward relationship between him and his much younger brother. This old lobsterman has a monologue about the exoskeleton as armor but how difficult it is for a lobster to molt and how vulnerable they are when they have their new soft shell. It’s subtle but obvious that the story is about manhood and masculinity and
the vulnerabilities of these men who are trying to be tough but also trying to change.
Shane is the young uncle who is a functional alcoholic. He works on a lobster boat. He’s funny and charming but sometimes he’s a mess and just so angry one minute and heartbreaking the next. And he looks tired. In a good way, that’s right for the character, but it’s so poignant for me to watch, knowing that he really couldn’t sleep back then. I would totally fall in love with him because of this movie if I hadn’t already been head over heels.
Watching him is thrilling. Hearing the twenty or so other people in the audience laugh at his lines makes me so happy. Every time I look over at Shane, he’s either wincing at the screen or he’s watching me. I cry three times, and each time, he squeezes my leg.
When the credits roll, everyone applauds, and I still have a huge lump in my throat. People descend upon Shane as soon as he stands up, so all I can do is smile at him and try to convey to him with my eyes just how much I loved the movie. I can tell that Shane’s agent is as excited about the performance as I am, but Shane seems to be taking it all in stride.
When the agent asks if we’ll join him for drinks, Shane says we have to be getting home, takes my hand, and doesn’t let go until we’re alone in the elevator to the parking level. I can tell he’s a little overwhelmed, so I don’t say anything until he looks over at me.
“Shane, you were so wonderful. Truly. The movie is great. I loved every minute of it.”
“Really?”
“Of course, really—didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I think it’s really good. I just wish I’d done certain things differently. It’s hard to watch myself. But the cinematography is great.”
“It’s beautiful! Maine looks so beautiful, and the score is beautiful, and the script is fantastic, and all of the actors—it’s so funny and sad and heartwarming. It’s going to be a hit.”
“I hope so.”
“I have no doubt. You’ll see. Once people start seeing this, you’ll get to play any kind of role in any kind of movie you want.”
He laughs. “Except a period piece.”
“Aw, who cares. I hate period pieces. Unless they’re about perfume.”
He kisses my cheek. “It really means a lot to me that you liked it.”
“Well I loved it. I’m really proud of you. Is that weird to say? I don’t even care. I am. I’m so proud of you. I can’t wait to see what happens next for you.”
And I mean it.
I am so proud of him that I don’t even wonder what happens next for us. I just want him to get what he wants in life. And I hope that one of the things he wants in life is me.
23
Willa
* One Month Later*
“Oy vey! We made it! Mazel tov!” I got a little tired of Summer’s Eliza Doolittle impression, so we watched Fiddler on the Roof a couple of weeks ago, and now she wants to be Jewish.
“Mazel tov!” I tickle her waist as I help her out of the car seat. “Let’s go see some flowers!” It took almost an hour in Saturday traffic, but since the kids don’t have any parties or play dates today, I decided to bring them to a botanical garden that’s over thirty miles away from home, in the hills of Northeast Los Angeles. I want to get some photos of the roses and camellias that are in bloom here, for Instagram, and the twins needed to get out of the house.
Summer was in a mood this morning, probably because her daddy hasn’t been around as much as usual lately. The premiere for his big summer comedy is on Thursday, and he’s been so busy with publicity stuff for the past couple of weeks. We’ve all been a bit stressed and moody lately. Shane isn’t thrilled that I don’t want to be his date to the premiere, but he understands why. He wanted me to keep sleeping in his bed once the kids came back home, but I think I should sleep in the nanny room any time they’re around. If he and Margo always think of the children first, then he and I should too. Boundaries. I know how hard it was for Shane to cross the line when he talked to Nico about me, but I still need the nanny-employer boundaries to define my life right now. Because there aren’t any boundaries in my heart.
Fortunately for everyone, the Fiddler on the Roof soundtrack is on Spotify, so we listened to it all the way here. It cheered us up a bit. Summer wanted to sing “Matchmaker” over and over again, and Lucky wanted to hear “If I Were a Rich Man” because he’s fascinated by the singer’s deep voice and all the funny noises he makes.
“Come with me,” I tell Summer while I go around to the other side door to get Lucky out of his car seat.
“Bahdahbahdahbahdbahduhbahduh biddy biddy bum!” Lucky’s arms are up in the air, and he’s wiggling his shoulders, the way the father in the movie dances.
“Let’s get your biddy biddy bum out of here.” I pull him out and realize that Summer is not by my side. “Summer!”
“Yabba dibba dibba dubba dabba dibba dibba dum!” Her voice comes from about twenty feet away. The parking lot isn’t too busy, but still.
“Summer! Stop where you are and wait for us!” I shut the door.
“Daidel deedle daidel daidel hurry up!”
I grab Lucky’s hand, and we jog over to where Summer is standing.
“We all need to stay together,” I say to Summer. “Take my hand.”
“You forgot to make the car beep,” Lucky says.
“What? Oh right.” I lock the car with the key fob, and then I take Summer’s hand as we cross the lot to the entrance to the gardens and wait in the short line.
“Are there animals here?” Lucky asks.
“Good question. It’s not a zoo, but I’m sure we’ll see some birds and squirrels, maybe lizards.”
“I wanna see lizards!”
“Me too!”
“Is Papa going to meet us here?” Summer has started calling Shane “Papa” and Margo “Mama” while pointing out that there aren’t any nannies in the “fiddler family.” She now refers to me as “Tzeitel,” the eldest daughter.
“No. I told you, we’ll see him at the house for dinner.”
“Tzeitel?”
“Yes, Summer?”
“When is matchmaker going to make you a match?” There’s a teasing tone to her voice, but I still don’t like it. She has been such an adorable little turd, ever since they Skyped with Margo last night.
“What makes you think I need a matchmaker?”
“Because you don’t have a husband.”
“Well, Fiddler on the Roof takes place in Russia in 1905. Things are a little different here and now.”
“But Abby’s mom uses match dot com to find husbands.”
“Good point. But I’m not looking.”
“Why not?” She eyes me suspiciously. “Do you already have one?”
“No.” Fortunately, I’m up next to pay for admission, so I can ignore her when she asks me if Papa should have a matchmaker.
“But where will you go when the new nanny moves in?”
“I don’t know for sure yet. Probably back to Nico’s place for a while.”
“I don’t want you to go,” Lucky whines. “I don’t like the new nanny.”
“What new nanny?”
Summer lets go of me so she can jump in front of Lucky and cover his mouth with her hands. “You’re not supposed to say anything, ’member? Oy vey!”
“You already met your new nanny?”
Summer lets her head drop back and smacks her forehead. “Yes!” She takes my outstretched hand again. “At spring break. Mommy made us meet her. I mean, Mama. I liked her. She brought cookies.”
This is news to me, although I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Margo would want to interview nannies while she was in town. It’s just odd that Shane hasn’t mentioned it. And that somebody didn’t want the twins to mention it to me. And it’s ridiculous that I’m feeling a pang of jealousy about being replaced, because it’s not like I want to be their nanny forever. I’m just hoping—perhaps it’s irrational of me to be expecting—to be in their life forever and ever.
>
But I can’t think about that now.
This garden is the perfect size—not small, but it doesn’t feel expansive. It’s blissfully peaceful and quiet. There are so many trees that provide shade and dappled light. I can tell I’m going to love it here. I let go of the twins’ hands for a few seconds to study the map handout. There are a lot of different sections and paths. Some paths are paved around the perimeter, and some go through the woods in the center of the property.
After making the twins close their eyes and inhale the incredible scent of the wisteria near the entrance, after agreeing to buy Summer a soft pretzel for her to share with Lucky, and after taking them both to the bathroom, we’ve finally made it to the Japanese Garden. The kids are happy to stand here on the little bridge and watch the koi in the pond. I check my phone to see if there are any messages from Shane. After seeing how he was constantly surrounded by people before and after the screening a month ago, I have some idea of why he doesn’t have much time to keep in touch when he’s working.
There aren’t any messages from Shane. But there is an e-mail from my mentor in Versailles, letting me know that the German perfume studio in New York still has one lab tech position available. I had politely declined to interview after he first told me about the job because I still had two months of nanny work left and I didn’t want Shane to worry about finding someone to replace me. But Margo will be back from Poland in just under a month. I need to figure out my next move.
I have a good chunk of change saved thanks to Shane, but it would only be enough for a deposit and a few months’ rent, given the money I have to put into my new business. Christina at the boutique keeps ordering more of my perfume oil every week—she sells out within days every time. I have steady sales on Etsy now, but it’s not enough to cover rent yet since I don’t have time to produce and ship more than thirty bottles a week now. So I’d pretty much have to stay with my brother again. I’ve been designing my own website storefront, which I plan to launch once I’m done working for Shane, but I’ll need space for all of my supplies. I haven’t talked to Nico about setting up a work area yet.
Sleeper Page 18
