by Alan Katz
“This means war!” Myron and Martin both declared under their breath, and stared menacingly into each other’s eyes. Then they had a frenzied whipped cream–squirting battle, just as Mrs. Wohlfardt had feared they might.
In thirty days, one would stay and one would go. If the nannies . . . and the family . . . and the house . . . made it that far.
Yes, Myron and Martin were engaged in a battle. But they were, first and foremost, brothers. So that night, Myron invited Martin to share his room.
“I will be happy to bunk with you,” Martin said. “But first, you must admit that you are not sharing your room with me. Rather, you must agree that it’s my room and I am sharing it with you .”
Myron rolled his eyes and said, “Fine, sleep on the couch in the living room.”
“I’ll do just that,” said Martin. “I will sleep on the couch in the living room, because that is what I choose to do. It is a wonderful couch, and I will sleep on the couch in the living room. I will sleep on the couch in the living room. Please don’t make me sleep on the couch in the living room.”
Myron smiled and invited his brother into the bedroom.
A grateful Martin looked at the room and said hello to all the furniture that used to be his (calling each piece by name, which was weird). Then he flipped open the sofa bed—or as he called it, Sofia Couchowitz.
Myron knew what Martin would say next.
“So plush. So comfy. So . . . enjoy sleeping here,” Martin told him.
“Not. A. Chance.” Myron laughed, plopping onto his own bed.
“I wouldn’t treat my twin brother like this,” Martin said.
“What would you do?” Myron wanted to know.
“If there was one full-size, deluxe bed and one sleeper sofa, I would give my brother the bed and I’d take the sleeper sofa,” Martin said.
“So? That’s what you got!” Myron told him. “We’re good. And speaking of good, good night.”
Myron’s head hit the pillow and he was asleep in a matter of seconds. As for Martin, he creaked his body into the creaky sofa bed, and began making a list of the ways he was going to win back his job, his full salary, his bed, and his reputation as the world’s greatest nanny.
Many of the items on the list were things he’d never tried before. Things like hard work. Dedication. Creativity. And thoughtfulness.
“Yes, I will give the Wohlfardts everything I have,” he announced to no one as he started falling asleep. “I will outdo my brother at everything. And in thirty days”—yawn—“the kingdom shall be”—yawn—“mine! Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine!”
“Mine,” his brother mindlessly gurgled in his sleep.
The next morning, Myron and Martin awoke at precisely the same moment: twenty-one seconds past 6:14 a.m. Each immediately turned his sleep clothes inside out and counted that as getting dressed, then raced to the kitchen to make an impressive breakfast for Nathan and David.
The boys, meanwhile, showed up at the breakfast table extra early; they both understood that this was the first day of Operation: Make Myron and Martin Do Anything and Everything We Ask.
From the second the boys slid into their seats, it was very clear there was a major competition going on between the nannies.
“Good morning, men. Welcome to the best restaurant in town, Chez Martin!”
“What’s for breakfast?” Nathan asked.
“Hold on, Neptune!” Myron said, still apparently not willing or able to call the boys by their actual names. “Don’t settle for anything less than the world-famous fine cuisine at Myron’s Place!”
“Get ready to enjoy some cranberry pancakes à la Martin!” Martin proclaimed.
“But first . . . have a delicious helping or twelve of delectable pie à la Myron!” Myron said.
“What, no fresh-squeezed orange-carrot-mango juice?” David cried.
“And where’s our farm-fresh milk?” Nathan asked.
Martin ran out of the room, and a moment later, the boys swore they heard a cow in the den. Martin returned with two glasses of smooth, creamy, insanely fresh milk.
“Paper napkins?” David scoffed.
“No, cloth napkins!” Martin offered, exchanging the paper goods for two fine linen napkins.
“Wait . . . hand-knitted napkins!” Myron countered.
“Plastic forks?” Nathan sneered.
“Certainly not! Sterling silver!” Martin said, swooping in and switching the utensils.
“Put those down; I’ve got solid-gold forks!” Myron said. And he did.
“We’re supposed to slice our own food?” David wondered.
“No! I’ll pre-slice the entire meal for you!” Martin declared.
“I’ll pre-chew it!” Myron replied.
“What’s with you guys?” David asked the nannies (though he totally knew what was going on).
“Nothing,” Martin said. “We just want to treat you the best we can.”
“Exactly,” Myron said. “The very best we can.”
The boys smiled. They knew for sure that they would be the winners of the Martin-Myron challenge; they’d be treated like royalty as the nannies tried to outdo each other all month long.
“This is gonna be good,” David whispered to his brother. “So good.”
“Yeah,” Nathan whispered back.
He then addressed the nannies: “Oh, Myron, Martin, please wipe our mouths and then carry us to school on your backs.”
After Nathan and David had gone to school (and no, Myron and Martin didn’t carry them), Myron and Martin sat down for a talk. They realized that they were in for a month of getting bossed around by the boys, and they didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“Our having to compete means that they can ask us for anything, and if we don’t do it, we could lose the job,” Myron said.
“Quite true, my bro, quite true,” Martin replied.
“So right here, right now, we should agree that we are in charge,” Myron said, pointing his thumb at himself and his pinky at Martin for emphasis. “They can ask for the moon, but we don’t have to give it to them!”
Martin said he agreed with Myron (though in the back of his mind, he was thinking about how he’d go about getting the moon for the boys).
“We simply cannot go overboard to win them over. Let’s take the sacred family pledge to seal the deal,” Myron said.
“Yes, let’s,” Martin said, still wondering about the best way to actually deliver the moon to Nathan and David.
Both men spoke: “To honor my brother, and my family, I will do good stuff and not do wrong stuff and stuff like that.”
Then they high-fived, and that was that.
Or was it?
Because even though they’d vowed not to go to extreme measures to please the boys, later that afternoon, that’s exactly what each nanny did.
When Nathan and David walked into the house after school, each boy threw a huge stack of raffle tickets onto the kitchen counter.
“What are those?” Myron wanted to know.
“Yes, what are those?” Martin echoed.
“Raffle tickets,” David said.
“Oh,” Myron said. Then he went back to what he’d been doing—autographing all the melons in the kitchen.
Why was he autographing all the melons in the kitchen? Because, you see, Martin had already signed all the lemons—which, by the way, is spelled with the exact same letters as “melons,” though Martin didn’t know that.
“We have to sell them to raise money for a new piano that’s needed in the school’s music room,” Nathan told him. “Every kid is responsible for selling fifty tickets.”
“Yeah,” David continued. “And the prize is the school’s old piano, plus free music lessons for a year from Mrs. Garvett, the music teacher.”
“Sounds like a worthy project,” Martin said. “And we certainly wish you luck with it. Don’t we, Myron?”
“Indeed we do, Martin,” Myron answered. “Good luck indeed, indeed.”
“That’s it? Just good luck?” Nathan asked.
“What else is there?” Martin said. “It’s your project, after all.”
“Not ours,” Myron added.
In an effort to totally take advantage of the nannies’ need to impress, Nathan and David then strongly suggested that Myron and Martin help them sell their tickets. Martin and Myron looked at each other and nodded in a way that said that merely helping would be acceptable.
“C’mon, guys, we can walk around the neighborhood with you,” Myron offered.
“Together?” Nathan said. “That’s no good. You can’t have two ticket sellers knocking on doors. People will get confused. No one will buy from either one of us.”
“The baboon is right,” David said. “We can’t do this together.”
“Okay, Dave, you come with me,” Martin said, despite his agreement to not get involved. “We’ll cover the houses from Flerch Street down to Shumway Avenue. Nathan, you and Myron go up Flerch to Adams Lane.”
Myron said that sounded good, and that they should all meet back at the house in an hour.
Nathan grabbed his tickets, and he and Myron left through the front door.
David grabbed his pack of tickets and popped out the back door, with Martin running slightly behind.
“Okay, kid, gimme the tickets,” Martin said.
“Huh? I can carry them,” David told him.
“Yeah, great, but I wanna buy them,” Martin explained.
“How many?” David asked.
“All of them,” Martin said, whipping out a fifty-dollar bill and putting it into the boy’s hand.
“You don’t have to do that, Martin,” David said, though he certainly was thrilled to have sold the whole pack of tickets in less than forty-seven seconds.
“My pleasure, kid. It’s what special people do for people they care about. And I’m a special people. Um, person. Just remember that—Martin cares about you and wants the best for you, and if giving you the best means buying fifty tickets to win a broken-down piano, that’s what I’ll do!”
It’s probably no surprise that just down the street, Myron did pretty much the exact same thing for Nathan. And after showing Nathan the fifty-dollar bill, Myron left him standing on the street as he ran into a bank and got change for the fifty . . . so it wouldn’t appear as if one person had bought all the tickets.
“There you go,” said Myron as he handed Nathan the money. “One twenty, one ten, two fives, three one-dollar bills, two quarters, eleven dimes, seven nickels and five pennies.”
“Thanks so much, Myron,” Nathan said. “But that’s only forty-five bucks; you’re five dollars short.”
Myron said he was just trying to check Nathan’s math skills, but Nathan was pretty sure Myron was just trying to hold on to his five dollars.
At the same time, Martin ran into a different bank and got change for David as well. He handed the boy a ton of small bills and coins, which David quickly realized totaled thirty-five dollars.
Martin said he was just trying to check David’s math skills, but David was pretty sure Martin was just trying to hold on to his fifteen dollars.
Either way, with all their tickets sold, Martin and David sat on a park bench and waited for the hour to pass.
Myron and Nathan did the same—different park, different bench, but identical time-wasting idea.
So much for Myron and Martin not going overboard for the boys.
So much for the sacred pledge.
This was war .
It didn’t end with the nannies buying all the raffle tickets. As the days and weeks passed, Myron and Martin continually tried to out-shine each other to impress the Wohlfardt family. The men were constantly exhausted as they went out of their way to show how they could be nannies, super-nannies, super-duper nannies, and super-super-duper nannies.
When David said, “It would be nice if you’d do my laundry,” that’s what Myron did. He also did Nathan’s. Then Martin washed, dried, and ironed it all again.
When Nathan suggested that his bicycle could sure use a paint job, that’s what Martin did.
When David didn’t feel like delivering the newspapers on his afternoon paper route, that’s what Myron and Martin did.
When Nathan didn’t have time to make his mother a birthday card, that’s what Myron did (he wrote, DEAR MOMMMMY, and Martin then changed it to what he knew was correct: DEER MOMY).
When Nathan and David asked for before-bed hot fudge sundaes delivered to their room, they each got one every night at 8:18 p.m.
The more attention and special treatment the boys got, the more they requested. Martin and Myron were competing themselves into a constant state of tiredness.
And what’s worse is that after spending fifty dollars each on raffle tickets, neither nanny won the old piano and music lessons. (Incredibly, Mrs. Mildred Williams—the woman from Kenosha, Wisconsin, who’d ended up in seat 17C on Mr. Wohlfardt’s plane—had recently moved to Screamersville and won the piano and lessons. She was one lucky person!)
Of course, with about a week to go in the nanny competition, the month hadn’t been all bad. Martin and Myron did enjoy spending time with each other. They played games from their childhood, including Chabble (their specially created combination of chess and Scrabble, using a Scrabble board, all the vowel tiles, and chess pieces). They took long runs in opposite directions together, talked about friends and teachers from their hometown, and generally clowned around in ways they hadn’t done since, well, ever.
But there was still the matter of what to do about how Nathan and David were taking advantage of them, and about the competition that would be ending soon.
As it turns out, they didn’t have to do anything about those things. Because one evening during that final week, Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt called an urgent family meeting, and summoned both boys and both nannies to the den—at once.
The Wohlfardts had never had an urgent family meeting before. Sure, they’d had chats. And talks. And a few “idea exchange sessions,” as Mr. Wohlfardt had called them. But the words “family meeting” scared Nathan. And David. And Myron. And Martin. Hearing the word “urgent” before “family meeting” was absolutely petrifying to them.
Martin stared at Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt, expecting to hear one of them say, “You’re fired.” Myron stared as well, expecting to hear the same thing. And judging by the stern looks on their parents’ faces, even Nathan and David were wondering if they’d be fired.
Can parents fire their kids? Nah, Nathan thought. He did, however, remind himself to Google the subject later.
Mrs. Wohlfardt spoke first. “As you well remember, it was my idea to ask Myron and Martin to stay for thirty days. . . .”
“Yes, Mother,” Nathan said.
“Yes, Mother,” David said.
“Yes, Mother,” Martin said.
“Yes, Mother,” Myron said.
Mrs. Wohlfardt continued, “But that turned out to be a terrible idea.”
“Terrible,” Mr. Wohlfardt echoed.
“Myron and Martin, we expected that you would show us your best selves during your time here together. And you have,” Mrs. Wohlfardt told them. “But . . .”
“But?” Nathan asked.
“But?” David asked.
“But?” Martin asked.
“But?” Myron asked.
“But as you’ve worked your hardest to prove how wonderful you are,” Mr. Wohlfardt said, “we’ve seen quite a competition taking place. And we know that a certain two little monsters have made your lives miserable, taking advantage of your good nature.”
Nathan gulped.
David gulped.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Myron said.
“Me either,” Martin said.
“Yes, you do, Myron,” Mr. Wohlfardt told him. “You cried to me about it this morning.”
“You cried?” Martin asked. “Ha ha ha ha ha!”
“You blubbered to me too, Martin, just a few minutes after your brother di
d,” Mr. Wohlfardt said to Martin. “And yet now you say you don’t mind how the boys have treated you. Apparently brothers who cry together also lie about things together.”
“Technically, we weren’t together when we cried,” Martin feebly pointed out.
“Who cried better?” Myron wanted to know, looking for any possible advantage over his brother.
Mr. Wohlfardt went on to tell the men that it wasn’t okay that Nathan and David had made the nannies do their chores, their school projects, and everything else that the boys were usually responsible for.
“For one thing,” he said, “you are here to help the boys do their very best. All they’ve done the past few weeks is prove how sloppy, lazy, and inconsiderate they can be by having you do everything for them.”
“Plus,” Mrs. Wohlfardt continued, “I’d very much like to know which one of you men wrote David’s school report on JFK. . . .”
“That was me,” Myron said meekly.
“Well, it was nicely done, Myron,” Mrs. Wohlfardt told him. “But you wrote five hundred words about the thirty-fifth president of the United States.”
“Yes, I did,” Myron said.
“Myron? How could you?” David blurted out. “The assignment was to write a report about JFK the New York airport—not the president!”
“Is it his fault that you asked him to write the paper and then handed it in without reading it?” Mr. Wohlfardt wanted to know.
“No, Dad,” David said.
“I’m surprised at you!” Martin whispered to Myron.
“I’m surprised at you!” Nathan whispered to David.
“And, Martin,” Mrs. Wohlfardt said, “I’ve seen you tiptoeing next door to feed the Kendall family’s cat while they’re away, haven’t I?”
“Yes, Mrs. Wohlfardt. I just love that ittybitty kitty,” Martin said in a sickeningly cute voice.
“Very nice, Martin,” she responded. “But they hired Nathan for that job, didn’t they?”
