Nanny Needed

by Georgina Cross

  It’s an odd moment, but I brush it aside as she announces my arrival to Stephen Bird and he swoops his arm out for a handshake.

  “Welcome!” he says. “We’re thrilled to have you here.” One nod to Pauline and she’s quietly dismissed from the room.

  He ushers me to the same chair as the day before, but this time, there is no offer of tea or sandwiches. We’re down to business, and he’s retrieving a stack of papers from a drawer and extending it toward me.

  “Most of it is a formality. I’m sure you understand. My family insists on this sort of thing, particularly my father. He’s intent on privacy. It’s a big part of the deal. Everyone here has had to sign something like this at one time or another.” I skim the first page, then the next, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The various clauses and sections appear straightforward enough.

  I flip to another page.

  Nanny services for the Bird family. Monday through Friday.

  A block of text listing Collette Bird’s name. My name. The word Discretion in italics.

  I relax a little—it’s all just over-the-top legalese. Five paragraphs when one would have done the trick.

  Stephen sits back and watches me. “Like I said”—he gives another reassuring smile—“it’s mostly a formality.” He rests his elbows on the desk and taps his fingers against his chin. “All we ask, Sarah, is that you remain professional and responsible and courteous at all times while you’re with us in our home, and discreet about our affairs when you’re not.”

  “I can do that,” I assure him calmly, while the whoop and holler of gratitude is filling my chest.

  “Your weekly pay will be provided in cash. All you need to do is come here five days a week to this beautiful apartment.” He spreads his arms wide as if even he knows how lucky we are to be in this place. “To that dollhouse I know you love so much.”

  I’m speechless, my heartbeat not having returned to its normal rhythm since his phone call the night before. Jonathan and I barely slept, staying up late and dreaming of what our life could be like once we’ve paid off my aunt’s hospital bills. We’ll build up our savings account. We even started talking about renting a small space for our wedding. Maybe he could pull some strings with Paul and see if Hearth could cater for a lower price.

  And for the first time in a long time, after Jonathan curled to one side and fell asleep, I switched on a small reading light and pulled out my sketchbook, too excited to fall asleep myself. It felt good holding the drawing pencil against my hand again, the outline of the sketch coming to life on the paper. A faint outline formed and my pencil filled in the rest, darker shading, the swoop of a few more lines, before I realized what I was designing: a sheath dress similar to what Collette had been wearing, elegant and form-fitting, but my version was modified with cap sleeves. Her presence, her sense of fashion, was already inspiring me to draw.

  Stephen pushes a pen across the desk. “Sign the last page, please. Date it, and we’ll be good to go.”

  I flip through the document for a second time. Without further delay, I sign the last page as instructed and hand it back to Stephen.

  He instantly drops it to his desk. “Wonderful. I’ll make you a copy so you can take one home with you this afternoon.” He jumps from his seat, saying, “Now let’s go see what my stepmother is up to.”

  * * *

  —

  We find Mrs. Bird in the family room. It’s as posh as the gallery where I had my first interview but not as formal. In here, the marble floor is covered with oversize dark blue rugs, conjuring up images of the ocean rolling out before us. The rugs have a luxurious shag quality, the material plush and textured beneath my feet.

  Collette is no longer dressed to the nines and wearing designer pumps but remains impossibly chic in her stone-washed jeans and silk blouse. Gold espadrille sandals are strapped to her feet.

  She rushes to hug me, the distinct scent of Chanel No. 5 spritzed through her hair and down her neck, and it envelops me as she wraps me in her arms.

  “Oh, Sarah, I’m so glad it’s you. I’m so glad you’re the one we picked,” she gushes.

  My cheeks warm with pleasure. “I’m so happy to be here, Mrs. Bird. Thank you for hiring me.”

  She pulls back from her hug. “Please call me Collette.”

  “Okay.” I grin. “Collette.” My smile matches hers.

  I look to the sofa, half-expecting to see a little girl about to jump into my arms too.

  “Where’s Patty?” I ask.

  “Oh,” Collette says with a pout. “She’s not feeling well, the sweet angel. I think yesterday must have been too exhausting for her.” She leads me to the sofa.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” And I steal a quick glance at Stephen, wondering why he didn’t mention this.

  “Can she have visitors?” I ask.

  She waves her hand. “It’s best we not disturb her. I’ve instructed Pauline to let her sleep, get all the rest she wants, because tomorrow”—and she claps her hands like a child herself—“we will have lots of time to play.”

  I recline happily on the sofa. I’m over the moon at the realization I will be getting paid to just sit here with Collette. As much as I want to meet Patty, there are a million questions I’d love to ask this woman, such as where does she shop? Who’s her favorite designer? Where did she buy those espadrille sandals, for example? The dress she wore during the interview? My eyes dart to the hall wondering when I’ll be able to see her closet.

  But I slow my breath—take it easy. I’m here to nanny, not to pester this woman about her fashion style. I’ll get to know her over time.

  She casts her eyes at Stephen. “Everything taken care of?”

  “The contract is signed, yes.”

  “Good.” And she gives him a long, drawn-out smile before turning to face me. “Oh, Sarah,” she says again. “What a joy this will be. What fun. We haven’t had a nanny here in quite some time…since…” She looks up at the ceiling before giving Stephen a puzzled look.

  “Since last year,” he says.

  “That’s right, since last year.” She frowns. “I hated to see her go, she was so kind to Patty and me, young like you too. So much fun, but then she had to leave…” She waves her hand dismissively. “Something about another job. But then”—her frown turns right side up again—“if she hadn’t left, we wouldn’t have been able to find you, now would we?” She squeezes my arm. “And I just have a feeling”—she looks deep into my eyes—“this wonderfully profound feeling that we are going to get along so well. Like friends, like sisters.” Her smile is so big, her cheeks stretched so wide, her smile is scrunching the corners of her eyes. “I’ll be the best boss ever, you’ll see. You’ll have never had another one like me.”

  Happiness radiates through my chest. I think about Paul as she clasps my hands tight in hers, the way he yells or is always scolding me for being late and how the money I make at Hearth, even if I worked there another decade, will never be enough to move ahead with my life—and I tell myself, no, I can’t imagine having a boss like Collette Bird.

  * * *

  —

  Jonathan enters the apartment with the distinct crinkling sound of plastic bags—takeaway from Hearth, the smell of tomatoes, white wine, and garlic making my stomach growl. He waves the bags, a large grin plastered to his face as if he’s caught the biggest prize at work and places the bags on the small card table we salvaged from someone’s castaway furniture left on the street. “You hungry?”

  “Absolutely.” I leap from the edge of the futon and fetch a set of knives and forks as he removes each to-go box and peels back the lids.

  Scooping what looks like chicken parmesan and mushroom risotto onto the plates, pieces of focaccia bread too, he says, “Didn’t have to pay for this one. Wrong order.” He hands me a plate with a wink. “Our gain, huh?�
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  I’m so relieved to see food I sit down immediately, not realizing how famished I am, having spent the last few hours doing research on my phone and looking up nannying blogs and tips on how to be the best nanny, completely losing track of time. I hadn’t paused long enough to think about food, let alone cook anything on our tiny stove, but thank goodness I have Jonathan. And my heart warms knowing how he’s always like this, remembering to bring us dinner when I often get caught up in my own little world.

  I’m on my third or fourth bite when I realize he’s staring at me, expectantly. “Well?” he says. “Aren’t you going to tell me how today went?”

  I laugh, then cover my mouth with my hand to chew and swallow quickly. I say, “It was great. She’s great.”

  He chuckles. “Let me guess, everything’s great?” His eyebrows arch when he smiles, the dimple I love so much showing in his cheek.

  Jonathan is as amazed as I am when I tell him how I spent the day sitting with Mrs. Bird and sipping coffee. We talked for hours—well, Collette did mainly. She prattled on about Patty and the fun she imagined we would have together: mornings in the playroom and afternoons putting together puzzles. I barely got a word in edgewise, which was fine since it was nice listening to her plans; she seemed to have so many of them.

  She is so vibrant and enthusiastic about everything having to do with her daughter, that I would have sat hours longer listening to her. She’s so loving, and takes so much interest in Patty’s every move, how I dream my own mother would have been about me. She describes sitting and having tea parties with Patty like it’s the most splendid, most wonderful thing in the world. I’m finding myself looking forward to the moment we can be together.

  By noon, Collette had excused herself, telling me that as much as she loved the chat, there wasn’t much reason for me to stay if Patty was going to remain in bed. I felt a tinge of disappointment, but then I remembered I would be here the next day, and the next.

  Within the hour, I was home, loving the fact I had the rest of the afternoon to myself when I would have normally been on my way to Hearth getting ready for a long shift, hours of serving potato gnocchi and martinis to an endless stream of customers. I spent the afternoon researching nannying instead.

  “You’ve got the sweetest gig,” Jonathan says. “I’m almost jealous.”

  “Don’t be,” I tell him, but my heart swoons knowing how much it’s true.

  He grins. “Have you met the dad yet?”

  I roll my eyes. “No, they said he’s pretty busy all the time, so we won’t cross paths much. But it’s funny…” I tilt my head. “I expected they needed a nanny because neither of the parents would be around much, but the mom seems pretty homebound. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s wonderful and it will be nice to have her there. But it sounds like she’ll be around a lot when I’m with the girl.” I look at him. “What’s the point of having a nanny then?”

  “Maybe she has an office at home and needs quiet time?”

  I consider this but find it highly unlikely, the way Collette has talked about tea parties and making brownies and the coloring books we will share with Patty on the living room floor. “I don’t think so. I get the feeling she’s going to stay in the same room.”

  “Must be nice,” Jonathan says. “All that money to sit around, paying for someone to watch your kid with you.” He takes another bite of his food. “Do you think she has visitors coming over a lot? Maybe she needs you to keep the girl occupied?”

  I try envisioning lunching lady sessions with Collette in the role of the grand hostess. She fits the part perfectly.

  But I shake my head. “I really don’t know. Today was pretty formal. Signing the contract, going over stuff with the stepson. Then, with Patty in bed, we just talked. Collette told me about growing up in a small town in Connecticut. Both her parents were schoolteachers and she didn’t have much money as a kid, which is amazing when you think about her life now. She was a beauty queen in high school and then moved to New York to model. She met Mr. Bird at some party and the rest, you can say, is history.”

  “She’s his second wife though, right? His trophy wife.”

  I shoot him a look. “Don’t be mean. They really love each other.” I think about how her face lit up describing Alex Bird, how she thought he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen when he stepped into the room. We weren’t dating long when he asked me to marry him. And the way she’d talked about Stephen: Besides Pauline, he takes care of most everything.

  “So she’s not a wicked stepmother?”

  “No, the opposite. I think she gets along really well with Stephen. They’re close. I’m not sure what the status is with his real mom but he and Collette seem pretty tight. Something tells me this isn’t the first time he’s done the interviewing for her either. There was a nanny last year too.”

  “Oh?” Jonathan stops. “Why’d she leave?”

  “She took a different job or something.”

  “Must have been something fancy to walk away from the salary they’re paying you.”

  I shrug. Collette didn’t tell me the circumstances of the previous nanny and I hadn’t wanted to pry.

  “But didn’t you say the stepson is in his thirties?” Jonathan asks, his eyebrows crinkling. “And he still lives with his parents?”

  “He has his own apartment, but he keeps a room there. Trust me,” I say, my eyes growing wide. “If you could see this place you’d want to stay there too.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It’s Wednesday, officially my second day on the job, and I’m hoping to meet Patty. I’ve been hired to be a nanny and while I loved spending time with Collette, I’m ready to get to know the girl I’m in charge of. Since Patty is the one I’ll be spending the most time with, I want to know we’ll click.

  “She’s still feeling unwell, I’m afraid,” Pauline says when I arrive at the apartment, and I feel my heart drop. Maybe there’s something they’re not telling me.

  Seeing the look on my face, Pauline says, “I thought about asking Collette to call you and tell you not to come in, but before I knew it, it was almost nine and we knew you’d be on your way in so…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, only turns on her heel, a quick smile over her shoulder to convey everything is going to be all right. She leads me to the kitchen and moves to the massive stainless-steel island at the center of the room. A French press has been left on the countertop filled to the brim with coffee, and Pauline lifts one of the three ceramic mugs set on the counter. “Cream or sugar?” she asks, and I nod to both as I watch her prepare my cup and hand it to me.

  She leaves the other two coffees black, setting one of the mugs on the other side—for Collette?

  But a man walks in, the chef wearing the same black apron and holding a bowl of grapefruit. He doesn’t look up as he lifts his coffee and takes a big gulp.

  “Freddie,” Pauline says, scooting around the edge of the counter. “I want you to meet Sarah, the new nanny.” She takes him by the arm and gestures for him to set down his mug so he can properly greet me.

  I’m acutely aware of the disregard on his face. He could give two hoots about me being the new nanny. But despite his utter lack of friendliness, I have to admit Freddie the chef is remarkably good-looking. Suave and dapper, clad in a simple black T-shirt and jeans under his tidy apron. His silver-gray hair is cropped close to his head and he wears trendy black-rimmed glasses with rectangular frames. The tiniest hoop earring.

  We shake hands and he doesn’t make eye contact. As soon as he’s able, he pulls away, his eyes dropping to the floor as he steps back and retrieves his coffee.

  “Our new nanny,” Pauline repeats, as if her first introduction didn’t get through to him. “Isn’t it wonderful to have a new one in the house again, Fred? Someone to keep Collette and Patty happy?”

  He makes a sound, a grumble. An
awkward moment follows as we sip in silence, but Pauline is intent on forging ahead.

  “You come from the restaurant world too, am I right?” With the way she’s set up the question, the arched eyebrows and optimistic look, I can tell how hard she’s trying to bridge a connection. “Restaurants in Virginia Beach and the East Village, correct?”

  At this, Freddie comes to life. He says, “Really? Which one?”

  Eye contact. Finally. Plus, a triumphant smile from Pauline.

  “Hearth,” I tell him, doubting he’s ever heard of it.

  As I guessed, he says, “Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.” He twists his mouth, thinking and looking away again before asking, “East Village?”

  “East Thirteenth Street.”

  Another blank stare. I’m not surprised, considering this chef must spend most of his days on the Upper West Side.

  “Oh,” Pauline says lightly, “there are thousands of restaurants in the city. How could you know every single one?” And she pats him on the arm, still looking for conversation topics. “Freddie here is a phenomenal chef.” He doesn’t acknowledge her, only takes another long swig until he’s nearly drained his mug of coffee. Returning to the grapefruits, he proceeds to slice them in half on the cutting board.

  Pauline plods along. “He makes the family breakfast, lunch, and dinner—although most days Mr. Bird eats at the office—and treats for Patty. Her favorites are strawberry waffles with whipped cream or blueberry muffins. Cups of hot chocolate too. Bowls of spaghetti. Eggs Benedict for Collette and those green smoothie things she likes so much. I can never get over how much spinach you put in them, or is it kale?” She pinches her face.

  “Dinners that look more like an elaborate hotel buffet than a meal for three people,” she continues, patting her waist. “Doesn’t help me though, the temptation to sample everything right here in this kitchen. Freddie can make just about anything. He’ll cook for you too if you’d like.” And with this he pauses midslice, no attempt at disguising the blanched look on his face as Pauline says, “She’ll be here most mornings, Fred. Lunches too. You can always make an extra plate for her just like you did the last nanny.”