into alargefamily roomcumkitchen.
"Hi,I'm Lizzie. Stairs abit much,eh?Wantsomewater?"
"That would be lovely. I'm Nanny." I extend the hand that isn't clutching my abdomen. She's maybe a
few years older than me, wearing a gray flannel skirt, sky-blue oxford shirt, and a navy cardigan tied aroundher shoulders. I recognizeher aspartof thecommunityofhigh-class Britishimports whoregard this as a noble profession, requiring training and certification, and they dress accordingly. The boys have already run off to the corner, where a village of plastic Playskool houses are set up, to play what soundslikeSacktheSerfs.
"Here." Lizzie hands me the water. "I thought we'd just let them blow off steam for an hour and then
plunktheminfrontofTheJ-u-n-g-l-e B'O-O'k"
"Soundsgreat."
"I don't knowwhatI'm goingtodowhenCarterlearnshowtospell. Learnsignlanguage,I guess."
I stare at the rococokitchen cabinets, the distressed French tiles, the egg and dart moldings. "This is an
amazing house. Doyou
live in?"
"I have alittleflatonthetopfloor."I lookover atthestairsandrealizethat,yes,thereisanotherfloor.
"You mustbeinamazing shape."
"Trydoingitwith a knackeredfour-year-oldinyourarms."
Ilaugh. "I'venevermetCarterbefore.Wheredoeshegoto 1
school?"
"CountryDay,"shesays,takingmyemptyglass.
"Oh,I usedtolookafter theGleasongirls ?theywentthere. It's
a niceplace."
"Yeah?Carter,getoffhim!" I lookover justasGrayerisreleased
from a deathgrip.
"Wow, Carter,how'd youdothat?Showme,showme!" Grayer's eyes arealightatthediscovery.
"Oh,great," I say. "Nowhe'll beleapingouttoputme in a chokehold."
"A swift kick to the groin and they're down in no time," she says, winking at me. Where has she been
thiswholeyear? I couldhavehad a playgroundbuddy. "Hey,youwanttoseetheterrace?"
"Sure." I follow her out to a stone balcony overlooking the garden and the back of the brownstones on
theothersideoftheblock.We standundertheawningastherainsplattersthetipsofour shoes.
"It's beautiful,"I say, mybreathcoming inlittlepuffsof vapor. "It's arealnineteenth-centuryenclave."
Shenods. "Cigarette?" sheasks.
"You cansmoke?"
"Sure."
"Carter's momdoesn't mind?"
"Please."I takeone.
"So,howlonghaveyoubeenworkinghere?" I ask asshestrikesthematch.
"About a year. It's a little nuts, but compared to the other jobs I've had.... I mean, when you live in, you
know." She shakes her head, blowing smoke into the drizzle. "They run your life while you live in a closet off the kitchen.At least here I've got a great space. Those round windows?" She points with her cigarette. "That's my bedroom and that, there, is my sitting room. And my bath has a Jacuzzi. It was meanttobe aguestsuite,but,well,guestsare a littleoutofthequestion."
"Wow. Not a baddeal."
"Well, it's full-time duty."
"Are theynice?"
She starts laughing. "I guess he's not bad. e's never really around, which makes her a bit off her
rocker.That's whytheyneeded alive-in?
THE NANNY DIARIES
"Yoo-hoo! Lizzie!Are you outthere?" I freeze,trying not to exhale, a tinytrail of smoke escapingfrom
mynostrils.
"Yeah, Mrs. Milton. We're outside." She casually stubs out her cigarette on the balustrade and throws it intothegarden.I shrugandfollowsuit. "There you are!" she says as we come back into the kitchen. Mrs. Milton, a Matel blonde, sits on the
floorin a peach-silk robe,sniffinganddelicately wiping hernose, while theboys runaround her. "Now, who's this?" Her voice has a slight Southern lilt. "That's Grayer," Lizzie says. "And I'm Nanny." I extendmyhand.
"Oh, Grayer! Grayer, I saw your momma at Swifty's. Well, every time we're at Lotte Berk we keep sayingwehavetoget ourboys together.Andthenthereshewashavinglunchandwe said,well,wejust have to make a plan, and here you are! Grayer!" She picks him up and holds him upside down, in fluffy mules, no less. Grayer seems to be trying to make eye contact with me, clearly uncertain how to respond to this outpouring of affection. She puts him down. "Lizzie! Lizzie, darlin', don't you have a datetonight?" "Yeah,but?
"Shouldn't youbegettingready?" "It's onlyfour."
"Nonsense. Go relax. I want to spend some time with my Carter. Besides, Nanny can help me." She hunkersdown. "Hey,boys, youwannamake a cake?We havecakemix,right,Lizzie?" "Always."
"Great!" Her silk robe billows out behind her as she crosses to the kitchen, revealing long, tanned, and very nakedlegs. I realize as she turns that she is completely au naturel beneath her robe. "Now,let's see
... eggs... milk."Shepullseverything outandsets itonthecounter. "Lizzie, wherearethepans?"
"In thedrawer undertheoven." Shegrabs mywrist andwhis!
pers, "Don't let her burn herself." Before I have chanceto ask if and whythis is likely she's run upstairs toherroom.
"I likechocolatecake,"Grayer says,castinghis vote.
"We only havevanilla, sugar." Mrs. Miltonholds uptheredbox.
"I likevanilla," says Carter.
"At mybirthday,"Grayer continues, "I had acake. It lookedlike a footballanditwasreallyreally big!"
"Woohoo! Let's have some music." She pushes a button on the Bang & Olufsen stereo above the counter and Donna Summer comes blaring out. "Come on, sugar pie. Come and dance with Momma." Carter shakes his arms and bobs his knees. Grayer starts off slowly with a head wiggle, but by "On the Radio"helets thejazzhandsfly.
"Lookin' good, boys!" She takes a hand of each and the three of them bounce through all of Donna Summer's Greatest Hits right up through "She Works Hard for the Money," while I quietly start cracking eggs and greasing the pan. I put the cake in the oven and turn around in search of an oven timer,toseeMrs. Miltontwirling nearthePlayskool village. I have a MissClavel feeling.
"I'm just going to go use the powder room," I say to no one in particular. I open every door off the pantry,attempting tolocate abathroom.
Turningonthelightin a small room,I discover fourmannequinsin aVconfigurationwearingsequined gowns, each with a banner across her middle. Miss Tucson. Miss Arizona. Miss Southwest. Miss Southern States. There are tiaras and scepters, framed news clippings and a baton, all carefully displayed inglass cases.
I slowly inspect every dress, each sash, and then go over to the far wall, which is covered in glossy, framed photographs of Mrs. Milton. he Vegas showgirl. Which, I guess, is where you go after being
Miss Southern States. There is row after row of photographs of her in various sequined costumes and headdresses,wearingthick
THE NANNY DIARIES makeup and false lashes. In each she's sitting on some celebrity's lap, everyone from Tony Bennett to Rod Stewart. And then 1 see it, halfway down the wall, almost hidden, a snapshot of Mrs. Milton in a short, skintight white dress, Mr. Milton, his eyes rolled back in his head, and the preacher. The caption ontheframe reads, "TheAil-Night ChapelofLove,August12,199-."
I turnoutthelightandfindthebathroom.
WhenI come backoutMrs. Miltonis peeringforlornlyinthe
oven.
"You didit."
"Yes, ma'am." I justsaid "ma'am."
"You didit."Sheseems tobehaving troubleabsorbingthe
information.
"It's almost done,"I offerreassuringly.
"Oh, goodie! Who wants frosting?" She pulls six tubs of different-flavored frosting out of the fridge.
"Carter, get the food dye." Grayer and Carter mambo over. She grabs sprinkles, silver balls, and candy confetti from the cupboards and starts squirting the food dye Carter hands her directly into the tubs. "Ooohwee!" She's laughinguncontrollablynow.
"Mrs. Milton,"1 say, standingbackwith apprehension, "I think
it's timeforGrayer andmetogo."
"Tina!"
"I begyourpardon?"
mouth.
"1 DON'T WANT TO GO HOME!" Grayer panics, his fists tightly clenching a bouquet of plastic
spoons.
"See, nobody has to leave. Now, who ... wants ... frosting?" She reaches into two of the containers,
pullingouttwo handfulsoffrostingandcatapultingthem, oneatCarter,oneatGrayer. "Frosting fight!" She hands a tub to each boy and the frosting starts flying. I try to duck behind the island, but Tina hits me squarelyacrossthe
chest. I haven't been in a food fight since middle school, but I grab a tub of pink and fling a small handfulather. ustpaying herbackforthesweater. ndthenI'm out.
"Ooh-hah!" They are laughing hysterically. The boys roll on the floor, mushing frosting in each other's hair. Tinagrabssomesilver balls andsprinklesthemover theboys likesnow.
"What's goingondownthere?" Lizzie's sternEnglishvoicecalls fromupstairs.
"Ooh, we're in trouble," she says. "Carter, I think we're in trouble." They all crack up again. Lizzie comes intothekitcheninherterry bathrobeandslippers.
"Oh, my God." She looks around. There is frosting everywhere, dripping off the French tiles and the topiariesliningthewindow.
"Oh,Lizzie,wewere justhavingfun.Loosenup!Don't besoBritish."
"Tina!" Lizzie uses myWickedWitchvoice. "Goget inthetub!"Tinalookscrestfallenandstartsto cry, sinkinginherrobeandrevealing a bittoomuchof herimpressive superstructure.
"ButI...We were ... We were justhaving fun.Pleasedon't tellJohn.You hadfun,didn't you,boys?"
"I had fun. Don't be sad." Grayer gently touches her head, patting bits of pink frosting into her blonde hair.
Tina looks at Lizzie and wipes her nose on her sleeve. "Okay, okay." She hunkers in front of the boys. "Mommy's gonna go take a bath, okay?" She pats each one on the head and then walks over to the banister. "You come back real soon, Grayer, you hear?" she murmurs to herself as she disappears down thestairs.
"Good-bye, Tina!" Grayer shouts. And with a little backward wave she's gone. I wait for Carter to protest, but he's quiet. We strip theboys and Lizzie gives me a pair of Carter's pajamas and a plastic bag forGrayer's clothes.We putonThejungleBookandtrytocleanupthekitchen.
THE NANNY DIARIES
"Dammit," Lizzie says, scrubbingon her hands andknees. "Mr. Milton mightcome home tonightand if he sees this he'll send her back to Hazelden and it's terrible for Carter, her disappearing for weeks at a time when his father travels so much. It absolutely devastates him." Lizzie wrings out the sponge. "He askedme togo with her. oHazelden.SoI could,you know,figureout whenshewoulduseagainand intervene."
"What's she on?" 1 ask, though I already have a pretty good idea. "Coke. Alcohol. Prescription stuff whenshecan't sleep." "Howlonghasthisbeengoingonfor?"
"Oh, years," she says, squeezing out her sponge into the bucket. "I think since she came to New York. She fell in with some really posh junkies, celebrities and the like. He leaves her alone here all the time, so it's hard for her. But there's no prenup, soI guess he's just waiting for her to OD." Well, this certainly putspantiesinperspective. "I knowI shouldquit, butmyvisa extensionis attachedtothisjob.If I leave Carter it means going home and I really want to stay in America." I just wring out my sponge, not knowingwhatto say. "Here,whydon't youguys pushoff? I'll finishthis." "You sure?"
"Oh, yeah.Tomorrow it'll be something else." Grayer and Carter are loath to be parted, but we manage toget all thewaydownstairs andoutthedoor.
"Good-bye, Carter!" he shouts as I hail a cab. "Good-bye, Tina!" Since we're only going four blocks it seems ridiculous, but in addition to everything I was carrying before, I'm now sporting a plastic bag of Grayer's clothesandmyraincoatin a shoppingbagsomysweaterdoesn't shedsprinklesonit.
"Whathappenedtoyouall?" James asksashehelpsusoutof
thetaxi.
"We got in a foodfightwithTina,"Grayer explainsashepads
aheadof meinCarter'sTiggerpajamas.
21 1
Upstairs I turn on the bathwater and put some tofu dogs on the stove while Grover plays in his room.
"Hello?" a strangevoicecalls fromthemaid's room.
"Hello?"
A woman I've never seenbeforeemergesfromthedarkness,wearingConnie's uniform.
"Hello, I'm Maria," she says in a South American accent. "I was waiting for Mrs. X and must have
fallenasleep.I didn't wanttojustleaveonmyfirstdaywithoutsayinggood-bye."
"Oh ... hi. Hi, I'm Nanny. I take care of Grayer." I introduce myself for the third time today. "Actually,
Mrs. X is out to dinner and probably won't be back till late.You go on home and I'll tell her you waited
whenshegets back."
"Oh,great.Thanks."
"Whoareyou?" Grover standsblockingthedoorwayinhisbriefs.
"Grayer, this is Maria." Grayer sticks his tongue out, turns and runs back to his room. "Grayer" I turn
back toher to apologize. "I'm sorry. Please don't takeit personally. He's had a reallylong day."I gesture tomybuttercreamsoddenselfwith ahalf-smile. "ActuallyI wasjustgonnagogive himhis bath.Really, it's okaytoleave. Nottoworry."
"Thanks,"shesays,foldingher coatover herarm.
"No problem. See you tomorrow." I smile at her. I walk through the apartment, turning on lamps
Conniecleanedonlytwodays ago.
I go into Grayer's room, where he's still dancing in his underwear in front of his closet mirror. "Come
on,Baryshnikov."I plunkhiminthebath.
"That was so fun, Nanny. Remember when she threw the frosting and it hit my butt?" He convulses in
giggles again. I sit down on the toilet while he soaps up the wall, plays with his frogmen, and hums a
little Donna.
"G, you almost done?" I ask when I'm tired of using his baby comb to scrape the frosting from my
sweater.
THE NANNY DIARIES
"Beep'beep.Toot-toot. Beep-beep.Toot-toot." Heshakeshis soapytushinthewater.
"Come on,it's late."I holdupthetowel.
"Whatdidthegirls do?"
"Who?"
"Thebadgirls.You know,Nanny,thebad,badgirls." Heshakes
his hips. "Whyare theybad?"
"Theydidn't listentotheirnannies."
Mrs. X didn't seem to noticeas shebreezedpast me toher bedroomthat,in a torrentialApril downpour,
I left wearing only a T-shirt, carrying my sweater and coat in a shopping bag. I wait for the elevator, gingerlyputtingmysweater backonsoI don't freeze. I gotasmuchfrostingoutofmyhair asI couldin the laundry room, but I'm still crumbling out a few hardened bits when the elevator door opens. "Oh, shit." He looks flustered. "Hi!" "Hi!" I can't believe it! "What are you doing here?" "Oh, man," he says, crestfallen, "I wasgoingtosurpriseyou.I hadthiswholeplan,with flowersandeverything?
"Well, mission accomplished! What happened to Canciin?" I step into the elevator, shaking at the
unexpectedsightofmy H. H. inmuddyjeansandmyNYUsweatshirt. "Thatwasjusttothrowyouoffthescent. wasgoingtobewaiting inthelobbytomorrownight. na suit. We were going to go dancing." I beam at him and he gives me a once-over. "Looks like you and Grayer havebeendoingperformance artagain."
"Well, I've just returned from the Play Date in Hell with a crackhead mom. And I'm not being metaphorical, I mean an actual crackhead. She was coked up out of her mind, determined to be Betty fuckingCrockerandwegotdraggedrightintoit?
"God, I missed you," he interrupts, grinning from ear to ear as the door opens to the lobby. He leans over towipetracesof frosting
213 gently off my eyebrow and, without a second thought, I reach my arm under his to press the button for theeleventhfloor.Thedoorpolitely slidesclosed.
It is a carnalfrostingfrenzy.
Wrapped in his navy flannel sheet, I perch on the edge of H. H.'s kitchen table as he throws a dryer
sheet in with my clothes. He closes the metal door. "Hungry?" He turns, illuminated by the light from
th
eneighbors'kitchen.
"Whatdoyouhave?" I askasheopensthefridge.
"My mom usually leaves a pretty stocked kitchen when she knows I'm going to be here by myself.
Tortellini?" Hebrandishes apackage.
"Ugh,ifI never seeanothertortellini? I shuffleover topeerintotherefrigeratoralongsidehim.
"Lasagna?" heasks.
"Ooooh,yes, please."
"Howaboutsomewine?"
I nod, grabbing a bottle of red and pushing the door closed with my hip. I lean against the fridge and
watchhim pullout platesandsetusup atthetableinhispolka-dot boxers. Gome.
"ShouldI heatthisup?" heasks,kissing mybareshoulderashepasses.
"Probably.Wantsomehelp?"
"No, you sit down." He hands me a wine glass. "You've had a hard day, frosting girl." He pulls
silverware outof a drawerandcarefully lays itoutonthetable.
"So,whereareyour parents?"
"TheytookmybrothertoTurkeyforhis break."
"Whyaren't youinTurkey?"I sipmywine.
"BecauseI'm here."Hesmiles.
"Hereisgood."I pour a secondglassandhandittohim.
THE NANNY DIARIES
Helooksover atme,illuminatedbythelightfrom themicrowave. "You lookbeautiful."
"Oh, this old thing? It's a toga from the L. L. Bean collection." He laughs. "You know, I'm doing Latin
with Grayer now. HowoldwereyouwhenyoustartedLatin?"
"Umm . .. fourteen?" Hepulls thelasagnaoutof themicrowave andcomes over with twoforks.
"Well, you must have been a late bloomer, because he's four. He's wearing a tie now, have I mentioned
that?Not a child's tie,thefull-grown, hangS'to-the-floor-on-himkind." "Whatdoeshis momsay?"
"She doesn't even notice. She's been pretty off the deep end?she fired Connie for, like, no apparent
reasonandConnie's beentheresincebeforeGrayer wasevenborn."
"Yeah,thatmandrives his wives tothebrink." "Wait. hat?"
"Yeah, when Mr. X was cheating on his first wife, she completely laid into James in the lobby right in
front of some board members." I start choking on lasagna. "His first who?!" "His first wife, um,
Charlotte,I think,maybe."Helooksincredulouslyatme. "You didn't know?"
"No,1 didnotknow. Hewasmarriedbefore?" I havetostandup,hoistingmysheetwith me. "Yeah, but it was, like, a long time ago. I just assumed you knew." "Why would I know?! Nobody tells me anything. Oh, my God. Does he have any other kids?" I start pacing around the table. "I don't know. don't thinkso." "Whatwasshelike?Whatdidshelooklike?Didshelooklike
The Nanny Diaries Page 19
