Undiscovered Gyrl

by Allison Burnett

  I’ll never know whether he knew I was lying or not because all he said was how sorry he was to lose me and what a wonderful, special girl I am and how much he’d miss me. I said I’d miss him too. He made me swear to drop by next time I was in the area. You bet I will, buddy. Cross my heart and hope to get raped. Ha!

  I wish I could have an honest conversation with Glenn A. Warburg about his crime. I am dying to know what he did and why he did it and who the victim was. I am positive it was a young girl, I don’t know why. I crave every single detail. I love crime shows. I remember once a long time ago I was driving my mom crazy with questions about something, and she said “Oh god, I’ve given birth to a journalist!” And her boyfriend at the time said “No, a cop.” How funny is that? Me, a cop!

  • • •

  Since I no longer have a job, I didn’t know what to do today, so I spent the entire day doing nothing.

  Phone ringing. Stand by. Someone loves me.

  Jade. She feels so bad about me losing my job she wants to take me out drinking tonight. I said yes. It’s unhealthy to spend an entire day indoors.

  Friday, November 30, 2007

  Many of you wrote to me furious that I didn’t blog once this week. Well, here’s why: I hate blogs about nothing. I don’t care about how messy your sister’s room is or how much you paid for your new figure skates or what that bitch C.C. said to you at the bar mitzvah that hurt your feelings. I assume you feel the same way. Isn’t life boring enough without me adding to it?

  What if instead of taking the week off, I had told you the truth about my life? How I was so depressed about losing my job that I slept all day and watched as much bad TV as possible? How I lived on rice cakes, beer and little boxes of raisins, and pretended my pillow was Dan’s chest? How I only went out looking for work once and after an hour I had to pee so I gave up.

  Oh, I almost forgot to tell you about my nights! Monday I drank with Jade, Tuesday I smoked with Rory, Wednesday I drank with Jade again, and last night I drank and smoked with Rory. I have the worst bags under my eyes. Oh, yeah, and Tuesday night I had sex with Rory on the floor of my room. He came even faster than usual because it had been a while. Afterwards we went out to Beaowolf—a highly unimpressive film. We shared a large buttered popcorn. Is this really the sort of meaningless crap you want me to blog about? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

  I have been chaining all week. So bad that at night when I am trying to fall asleep, I hear a little whistle in my lungs that scares the shit out of me. Women die from lung cancer like ten times more often than men. I would love to quit smoking right now but I know if I even see a beer bottle, I’ll start again. To quit smoking I need to quit drinking, and to quit drinking I would have to stop being depressed, and to stop being depressed I would need something good to happen, or even have the hope of something good happening.

  Saturday, December 1, 2007

  Around 7:00 tonight my landline rang. When I answered it a man said “Katherine?” and my first thought was that I must be in deep shit, because I never use Katherine except on official documents.

  “Yes?”

  “Paul Spooner. I don’t know if you remember me.”

  I said I did not.

  “I interviewed you for college.”

  “Oh, right!”

  It was easy to remember him because I applied to six colleges but only showed up for one interview. I had no choice but to go to that one because my mom’s uncle went there and left them a shitload of money when he died. If I hadn’t shown up, it would have created a family scandal. My mom said I was pretty much guaranteed to get in and she was right. Honestly? With my grades and scores there is no way in hell I would have gotten in without help. I won’t tell you the name of the school but trust me it is excellent.

  I took a cab to the interview which was in the fanciest part of town. An area of beautiful homes, tall trees, and boring rich people. If I hadn’t gotten baked the night before the interview, I would probably remember it much better now. I know Mr. Spooner is some sort of stockbroker, with a really sweet, sensitive face, curly black hair and a muscular body. And I remember what I wore. I dressed Hepburn-sexy. Katherine not Audrey. Conservative but cute. Knee-high riding boots from Spain, a tailored shirt, a skirt with just enough leg showing and a long tweed coat. It was perfect. Except for my hat. I wore a purple ski cap because a lying bitch at school told me that purple was the school’s color. It’s not. Not even close.

  I remember in Mr. Spooner’s living room there was a framed photo of him and his wife. She and I looked sort of alike. Her skin was better than mine because she’s not a teenager, but I have bigger boobs, a skinnier body and a cuter nose. I liked that there was a resemblance because it meant I was his type and that he would probably like me. I don’t remember exactly what we talked about but I remember we laughed our asses off and he was totally non-judgmental. I didn’t bullshit him at all. I told him about my drunk dad and even about my three days in the psych ward and he was interested and sympathetic.

  One thing he said that day stuck in my mind because it was extremely cool. He said when he was a teenager back in the ’70s he and his friends used to smoke a ton of weed. His mother knew about it and she used to laugh at them and say “Marijuana helps adults relax after a long hard day. What the hell do you kids have to be anxious about?” Mr. Spooner said he felt pretty silly when she said that but now that he is an adult he realizes how wrong she was. It’s teenagers who need dope the most because nothing compares to the hell of being a kid. A grown-up who gets how hard it is to be a teenager!

  Anyway back to my story. When Mr. Spooner called me tonight he said: “First of all, congratulations. You were one of only three students I interviewed who got in.”

  “Wow.”

  “Second, I saw your name recently on a list of kids who took deferments. Is that right?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I felt like I needed a year to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. That way I could get the most of college when I go.”

  “Sensible.”

  “My mom thinks I’m insane.”

  “So what are you doing with yourself? Do you have a job?”

  “I did. At a bookstore. But I had to quit. I found out the owner’s a registered sex offender.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “Jesus, that’s terrible.”

  “Even worse for the girl he raped.”

  He laughed. It came back to me how much I liked him at the interview. I started getting that fluttery butterflies in the heart feeling you get when a boy in fifth grade calls you at home for the first time. Which, if you think about it for like a second, is a pretty weird way for a girl my age to react to a man old enough to be her father. But, hey, I never claimed to be normal!

  “Look, Katherine—”

  “Katie.”

  “Katie, I don’t know if you’ve ever done any babysitting but my wife and I just lost our nanny. She moved back to Guatemala to take care of her dying sister and left us high and dry for the holidays.”

  “That sucks.”

  “It sucks even worse for her dying sister.”

  My turn to laugh.

  “How would you like to be our full-time nanny for a few weeks? From eight to four every weekday until Christmas. I remember you said how much you love kids.”

  This totally confused me because I don’t love kids at all. I panicked and wondered if maybe he was mixing me up with someone else.

  “You’d work through Christmas. Then we go on vacation for a week. In the new year, if you like the job and we like the job you’re doing, we could make it a permanent thing. If it’s not working out on either side, we part ways with no hard feelings, and at least you helped us get through the holidays and you picked up some extra cash.”

  “You live pretty far away. I don’t have a car. Is that a problem?”

  “We’ve got an extra one. A Volvo. But here’s something you should know. Our son Cole’s onl
y fourteen weeks old.”

  “Wow. I’ve never really taken care of a tiny baby before.”

  “If you’re up for it, my wife Maggie’ll teach you. It’s easier than you think. He sleeps half the day.”

  “I’m up for it.”

  “Fantastic. It pays thirteen bucks an hour. If we need you to stay late, it goes to fifteen.”

  I said very casually that it all sounded fine. Meanwhile I was overjoyed, jumping up and down like a maniac. Right then Rory walked into my room and thought I’d finally lost it. I signaled for him to shut up. As soon as the call ended, I ran right past him down the hall to my mom’s room. She was as happy as I was and really proud of me for making such a good impression that Mr. Spooner would trust me with his baby.

  I wanted to go out and celebrate immediately of course, but Rory had to be up with his band at the crack of dawn to travel to a gig 12 hours away. All week he’s been asking me to come with him but no way am I going to be trapped in a farty van with a bunch of guys listening to loud music and playing computer games. Anyway now that I had a new job starting Monday it was a mute point because I needed to be fresh and rested. So instead of celebrating we talked till I yawned my brains out and he got the hint. As soon as he was gone, I called Jade.

  “Bitch, get over here right now! ’Cause I gots to celebrate!”

  Just my luck she met some cute boy at the Gap this morning and they had plans to smoke hash. I was so desperate I called Merci Gregoris, my smiley, fat, bleached blonde, mole-covered lab partner from high school who goes to the same college as Rory. She answered on the first ring but she was in a car full of sorority twats. I was the last person she wanted to talk to. Highly ironic when you consider that in high school she would have had a heart attack if I had ever asked her to do something on a Saturday night.

  Friendless, I poured some wine, lit a cigarette and called my dad to tell him that my boss turned out to be a rapist but that I already had a wonderful new job. He didn’t give a shit until I mentioned that it came with the use of a car. Boy, did he perk up. He’s off the hook now. Asshole.

  I am too excited to sleep. I wish Dan was here. I am going to call him and tell him that I have a car now and that any time he wants I will come over and make love to him. That’s what I want. Sex with him just once. Then I will fall asleep on his safe chest, and in the morning before we part forever I will tell him how I truly feel, even though I know he doesn’t feel the same way about me. I am going to call right now. If Martine answers, so what?

  LATER: 1:23 a.m.

  I did it! I called Dan! He picked up on the first ring. I could tell by the way he whispered that Martine was pretty close by. Maybe even in the same room. He knew all about my earlier hang-up call but wasn’t that mad, although he reminded me of our deal.

  “I call you, remember? I call you.”

  “But you never do!” I said really shaky, like I was about to start crying.

  This melted his heart a little.

  “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy. So what is it, sweetheart? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing really. I just miss you and I wanted you to know that I got a great new job today and it comes with the use of a car. Which means if you ever want to me to come over to watch a film, I can. I want to. Any night. Any time. Just tell me when. I’ll be there.”

  I said it in a soft intense sexual way. It definitely worked. His breathing changed. He was remembering our last night together. How hot it was. How I touched him. Boner rising! Hahaha! When he finally talked, his voice was full of manly desire.

  “When do you get the car?”

  “Monday morning.”

  More heavy breathing.

  I could hear him flipping through his calendar.

  “Friday night. Come over at seven.”

  Even though I was disappointed that it was so far in the future, I said perfect and he gave me the directions.

  It’s 1:47 and guess what? Now that Dan has invited me over I’m not that psyched about our date. I’m actually pretty sad and scared about it, to tell you the truth. Crazy, I know. But he’s way too old for me and it’s a shitty thing to do to Rory. I’m not respecting him or myself. So why don’t I just cancel the date? Because I can’t. I lack will power.

  Why am I still awake? I need to look cute for work on Monday. Sleep, gyrl. Ha! I doubt it.

  Monday, December 3, 2007

  The first day of my new job is over. It is only eight o’clock but I am going to go to sleep now. Why? So I can wake up and do it all over again tomorrow. Yipppeee. If I owned a handgun I would definitely shoot myself right now. No lie. Babies are the worst things ever invented.

  Tuesday, December 4, 2007

  I have purchased a handgun but I am too tired to load it. Just kidding. Babies are screaming poop machines.

  Friday, December 7, 2007

  Okay, so I didn’t post for three days. What’s the big deal? Hey, I’ve got an idea. How about you guys GET A LIFE! I am working hard to get one and if I succeed, guess what? I will quit blogging immediately. Why? Because people with lives don’t blog. They don’t even read blogs. Didn’t you know that? LOL! It’s true!

  Can you tell I am dangerously caffeinated?

  Where do I begin? Mr. Spooner’s wife’s full name is Margaret Elizabeth Whitley-Spooner. If that isn’t a Waspy name I don’t know what is. She looks like a wider-hipped and wider-shouldered version of myself. When I say that she is wider please don’t think she’s fat. She’s just, as my dad would say, “broad of beam.” He would probably also say “I don’t know whether to hand her my cock or a field hockey stick.” Or his favorite advice which is “Never screw a girl who can beat you in an arm wrestle.” In other words, she is athletic but not fat. Although she is not cute and sexy (like me!), she is definitely beautiful. You could shave her head and add 30 pounds to her butt and she would still look awesome. Fabulous bone structure and smile. The kind of woman a rich guy marries if he’s smart because she’ll never cheat on him or spend too much of his money, and she’ll make his house look like it’s out of a magazine.

  I love my mom but she is the exact opposite of Margaret Spooner in every way. For example, the inside of our home is painted like a pre-school. Our living room walls are red, white and yellow. My mom calls it playful. I call it butt-fugly. The Spooners’ house on the other hand is truly elegant. The walls are white, the floors are dark wood and the furniture is antique. The bright comfortable kind not the dusty stiff kind that looks like it will break in two. Before having a baby, Margaret was an interior decorator and it shows. That’s how she and Paul met. He hired her to decorate his bachelor pad.

  Margaret and my mother are opposites about food too. Except for special occasions when she actually cooks, my mom is a microwaver. Her favorite foods have dangerously high fat contents and are loaded with white flour. Things like pizza pockets and four-cheese macaroni and cheese. Margaret is a health nut who thinks microwaves cause cancer (or maybe it’s sterility) so she cooks everything from scratch with organic ingredients. Fiber is her life. Her food is not only delicious but amazing to look at.

  Even though I blogged that I hate being a nanny, I take it all back. Margaret is the greatest boss ever. The reason I was suicidal those first few days is because I’m not used to waking up early. Or taking orders. Every single second of the day Margaret was telling me what to do and how to do it, and it was freaking me out. I had to learn how to swaddle, shush, burp, change a pissy diaper, change a poopy one, clean gums and give a bath. (Don’t forget the butt crack and uncircumcised wiener!) Margaret is one of those mothers who has read every single baby book in the world and wants to do everything perfectly. Even if she gets no sleep she doesn’t care, because she will do whatever is best for her baby. With so much to learn and being so tired all the time, of course I was grumpy. By the time I got home I couldn’t even go out for a cocktail because I was dead on my feet. I don’t know how Margaret does it.

  Tuesday night after I blogge
d, I had a nightmare that I accidentally left Cole in the bathtub and he drowned. I woke up shaking and crying. I looked around in the freezing dark. It was almost morning. The alarm clock was just about to go off. Another day of work already! This was my low point. I wanted to run down the hall and flop onto my mommy’s stomach and tell her to call Margaret and say I had spinal meningitis.

  Thank god I didn’t because Wednesday everything changed. I started to have fun. I think it’s because girlfriend started to acquire some skills. I swaddle and shush great now, almost as well as Margaret, and I’m not scared of getting Cole in and out of his little plastic tub. I am also very good at getting him to sleep. Maybe because I sing better than Margaret. (She is tone deaf.) You won’t believe this but I love changing poopy diapers now. If you’ve never changed a baby’s diaper you will think this is freaky but baby poo smells wonderful. I huff it like glue. They should make a perfume out of it. Newpoop by L’Oreal. I’m serious. Margaret says it’s only true of breastfed babies. She says the poo of bottle-fed babies smells like shit. Hahaha!

  It’s pretty obvious I’m excited to see Dan tonight.

  • • •

  What else can I say about Margaret Elizabeth Whitley-Spooner? Oh, yeah. She gives me brakes all day. Whenever Cole is napping or feeding I can do whatever I want. Some nannies have to tidy up and do the laundry but the Spooners have a Jordanian housekeeper named Aziza who comes three mornings a week for four hours. Margaret says she refuses to hire a Mexican, because as warm and friendly as they are, they are not meticulous. She says it’s “alien to their culture.” I don’t think she is being racist when she says this, just honest. At lunchtime I can either go out or eat in, taking whatever healthy food I want from the humongous fridge. Even though Margaret despises smoking, she gave me my own personal sterling silver ashtray to use on the patio. I think it’s impressive that she doesn’t let her own dislike of the habit get in her way of being a good hostess.