The Nannies (11 page)

“But your first album was
Double Platinum
!” Cindy protested.

“
Solo
album,” Platinum corrected. “I did a Four-one-five Records recording with the Symptoms live at the Deaf Club in San Francisco in 1978. Nice one, Kiley.”

Yes!
It was everything Kiley could do to not pump her fist in the air.

The questions kept coming. What date did Platinum’s first album go double-platinum? Who starred with Platinum in the video that won the MTV Video Award in 1991? Who was president when Platinum threw up on the undersecretary of defense at a White House state dinner for Nelson Mandela?

Kiley had four right answers, Cindy three. Everyone else had either one or none, when A.M. posed one more:

“Who owned this estate before Platinum bought it two years ago?”

“Merde.”
Veronique cursed under her breath. Steinberg and Tamika stared blankly at their slates. Kiley and Cindy wrote the same thing: David Bowie.

“Cindy and Kiley correct,” A.M. pronounced. “Kiley has five right answers, she—”

There was no need for A.M. to finish the sentence, because Kiley was already heading out the door in search of Serenity.

23

Serenity wasn’t hard to find. She was sprawled on the grass just outside the guesthouse, staring up at the clouds.

“Hi, Serenity,” Kiley said.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing?”

“Looking at stuff in the sky.”

“Want to come inside with me?”

“Whatever.” The girl got to her feet, and Kiley had a momentary ray of hope that this wasn’t going to be as arduous as she had thought.

“So, I hear you don’t like to bathe much.”

“I didn’t say I don’t like to bathe,” Serenity corrected her. “I said I’m allergic to water. There’s a difference.”

Serenity headed for the house, so Kiley did, too. She switched over to mouth breathing. Sid had been right; his sister stank. They crossed the slate patio and entered the main house through sliding glass doors in the back. It led them into the white-on-white family room, which didn’t look all that different from the white-on-white living room, save for a large white fireplace that had obviously never been used.

“Let’s watch a movie in my room,” Serenity suggested, tugging Kiley toward the stairs. “I’ve got a TV and a DVD player and both
Tomb Raider
movies.”

“What a great idea,” Kiley exclaimed, going for cheerful. “How about if we watch one, then you try a bath?”

Serenity put her fists on her hips and glared at Kiley. “What are you, retarded? Do you think I’m going to fall for that?”

Kiley was flabbergasted. The mouth on this kid was amazing. In a bad way. Meanwhile, she could see the cameraman smiling behind his camera as he recorded every mouthy moment. She cleared her throat. “You really shouldn’t call people names.”

“I didn’t call you a name, I asked you a question. ‘Are you retarded?’ That’s a question.”

Kiley slapped a smile on her face and willed it to stay there. “You know, you’re right.”

“I know. I’m always right. Now let’s watch a movie.”

They went up to Serenity’s very white bedroom. The bookcases were neatly organized, the plush white carpet freshly vacuumed. Serenity went to one wall and pushed a button. A panel slid back, exposing her TV and rows of DVDs.

The little girl squinted in the darkness and plucked one out. “Have you seen
Not Another Teen Movie
? It’s so funny.”

Kiley had seen it. It was rated R and extremely raunchy. “You’re allowed to watch that?”

“Sure. Whatever I want. My mom says that movies never hurt anyone.” Serenity popped the DVD into the player and pushed some buttons; the film started. Then she settled into one of the white leather beanbag chairs on her floor. Kiley couldn’t think of anything to do but the same. The camera guy put down his heavy gear. “I can’t film this,” he told Kiley. “The light sucks.”

“Snickers? Licorice Whips? Bit-O-Honey?” Serenity had picked up a small white telephone.

“Are you asking me what I want to eat?” Kiley asked.

“What are you, deaf?” Serenity shook her head as she spoke into the phone. “Mrs. Cleveland, I’m watching a movie. I want the candy box. Bring it upstairs to my room. Now.”

She hung up and focused on the movie, where a teenage girl was trying to hide a vibrator under the covers of her bed before her family barged in. “Know what that is, Kiley? It’s a neck massager,” Serenity said knowingly. “The reason it’s so funny is that she’s putting it under the covers.”

Thank God for small favors,
Kiley thought.

“My mom has an even bigger one. Actually, six of them. They’re in her closet. Sid and I play with them sometimes.”

The idle cameraman cracked up. Great. She was sitting in the dark with an almost-eight-year-old, providing entertainment. How was she ever going to get this girl into a bath? Kiley knew she had to do something. So she took the remote and pushed the “Pause” button.

Serenity whirled around, brows knit with irritation. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“We need to talk.”

“No we don’t. You work for me, you know,” Serenity snapped. “Stop the movie and turn on the lights. I want the world to see what an idiot she is,” she told the cameraman.

Kiley fought for self-control as the lights came on. “No, Serenity. I don’t work for you. And if I become your nanny, I still won’t work for you. I’ll work for your mom.”

“So?”

“So, an eight-year-old does not tell the nanny what to do.”

Serenity sprawled on the plush carpet, arms behind her head. “Ha. I always tell the nanny what to do.”

“You had a nanny before?”

Serenity eyed Kiley balefully. “What do you think?”

On a whim, Kiley stretched out next to her. “I think you ask a lot of questions when you already know the answers. Here’s one I want to ask. What makes you think you’re allergic to water?”

“I don’t
think.
I
know.
Want to watch a different one? How about
Texas Chainsaw Massacre
? It’s really gross and cool.”

“Maybe later.” Kiley propped herself up on one elbow. “When did you discover you were allergic to water?”

Serenity stared at the ceiling without answering.

“Because I’m guessing that before you became allergic to water, you took baths and showers,” Kiley went on.

Before Serenity could answer, a heavyset woman in a white uniform trudged in, carrying a large plastic box. She set it down and opened the lid. It was filled with every type of candy sold at a movie concession stand; there were even two containers of fresh-popped popcorn. “Drinks?” the woman asked.

“Strawberry smoothie,” Serenity said. She found a Snickers bar. “What do you want, Kiley?”

Kiley ignored her, stood, and extended her hand to the woman. “Hello. I’m Kiley McCann.”

“Mrs. Cleveland,” the older woman said, shaking Kiley’s hand. “I’m the cook. Something to drink?”

“Nothing, thanks.”

“Shall I take this away, Serenity?” Mrs. Cleveland indicated the candy box.

Serenity wrapped her arms around it. “Nope.”

Mrs. Cleveland nodded politely at Kiley and departed; Serenity was already rooting around in the box for more candy. “Did you see DodgeBall? That really funny part where the mean guy got so fat? If I ever get that fat I’ll get my stomach stapled like Carnie Wilson. She’s a friend of my mom. I don’t think her surgery worked too good because she’s still kind of fat. Let’s watch the movie again. I’m sick of talking.”

Kiley frowned. She was getting nowhere fast. “Hey. Did you know that the most beautiful woman in ancient Egypt used to take baths in milk?”

Serenity put the half-eaten Snickers on the carpet and tore open some M&M’s. “Really? That’s interesting.”

“It makes your skin very beautiful. Maybe you’d like a milk bath.”

“Sure. If we fill our swimming pool. That’d be fun. I want to have fun. We could invite a lot of hos over, like in
Risky Business.
Know what a ho is? I do. It’s a girl who has sex for money. I know about sex, like how people do it. Want to hear?”

Kiley’s head swam. “You shouldn’t be watching
Risky Business,
Serenity. Or this movie either, for that matter. You’re too young.”

“No I’m not.”

“Your mother really allows you to watch those movies?”

Serenity kicked her shoes into the carpet. “I told you, she doesn’t care.”

“Your last nanny said it was okay?”

“She was a doodyhead with a funny accent. She lived in the guesthouse. I did whatever I wanted.” She grabbed the candy box again and peered inside. “Red licorice?”

“No thanks. So you mean you brought whatever DVDs you wanted up here? Alone?”

Serenity tore open the licorice package with her teeth. “Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t.”

Kiley pressed on. “How about your brothers? Did they watch with you?”

“Bruce knows all the good ones. His friends come over and they stay up really late downstairs in the theater room.”

“Do you stay up with them?”

“They kick me out. They say I’m too little.” Serenity got a sly look on her face. “But they don’t know everything.”

Kiley thought she might be on to something. “Did you sneak inside?”

Instead of answering, Serenity scrambled to her feet. “I like that thing where we fill the pool up with milk. I’ll call Mrs. Cleveland so she can buy a lot of milk.” She picked up the house phone.

“You
did
sneak.” Kiley was sure she was right. She gently took the phone from the little girl.

“Okay. If I tiptoe into the back of the theater downstairs, Bruce and his stupid friends are too busy making out and they don’t even know I’m there.” She jutted out her chin defiantly. “I can watch scary movies if I want to.”

“You like them?”

The girl shrugged.

“What’s the scariest one you ever saw?” Kiley asked.

“I don’t want to talk anymore.” Serenity jumped up, upsetting the candy box. “Let’s go to Sid’s room and play air hockey. Come on.”

But Kiley didn’t move. “When I was a kid, I once saw this movie that scared me so much,” she recalled. “While people were sleeping, creatures from outer space invaded their brains and turned them into zombies.”

Serenity fake-smiled. “Come on. That’s not scary because it isn’t real. Not like getting chopped up in a shower.”

“You saw a movie where someone got chopped up in a shower?”

Serenity nodded. “It’s a true story, too. About this man who’s psychic. That’s the name of the movie.
Psychic.
”

Psychic?
“You mean
Psycho
?”

The little girl looked guarded. “Maybe.”

“A crazy man attacks a lady taking a shower,” Kiley prompted.

Serenity nodded. “And this friend of Bruce’s, I heard her say it’s a true story.”

Jeez. Kiley took a guess. “Did you get allergic to water after you saw
Psycho
?”

Serenity nodded again.

Kiley went and smoothed the snarled hair off Serenity’s face. “Sweetie, that’s just a made-up story. It isn’t real.”

“Yes it is.”

Kiley dropped her voice low so that the cameraman’s mike wouldn’t pick it up. “Know what, Serenity? I know a secret about that crazy guy in the movie.”

“What?”

She dropped to the girl’s ear and whispered, “He only attacks if the person in the shower is alone.”

Serenity bit her lower lip and considered this. “Otherwise he’d get caught, right?”

“Yup. So if two people are in the bathroom and one of them is on guard . . .”

Serenity cut her eyes at Kiley. “You first.”

“What?”

“You take a shower first and I’ll guard you,” Serenity explained. “If you don’t get killed, you can guard me when I take a bath. In milk.”

Kiley smiled. There was nothing in the rules that said the bath had to be in water. “Deal. Do you want to call Mrs. Cleveland to bring the milk, or should I?”

“I’ll do it.” The girl looked up at Kiley and smiled.

Kiley smiled back. It was the very first moment that Kiley liked her.

24

Thank God Aunt Kat has good taste,
Lydia thought as she surveyed the clothes she was wearing, found in her aunt’s closet: a pair of Seven jeans and a white T-shirt that read NICE GIRLS RARELY MAKE HISTORY.

But Kat was coming back from Connecticut the next day, and so were the kids. Lydia knew she’d need to get these clothes back into Kat’s closet and do something to augment her own very limited wardrobe. So she was off to Rodeo Drive for a shopping spree, courtesy of the emergency Visa card that Kat had thoughtfully left for her in the guesthouse.

As she was pulling on the jeans, the phone rang. She flung herself across the bed to answer it. “Hello?”

“Miss Lydia?”

“Yep.”

“This is Janeese—one of the housekeepers up at the main house. Xander just returned. He’s ready for you.”

“Thanks.” Lydia hung up and checked out her reflection one last time before heading out. She’d also borrowed choice cosmetics from Kat and Anya’s marble dressing table. Aunt Kat was quite the lipstick lesbian; her makeup collection would make Lil’ Kim weep with envy. Lydia had helped herself to Benefit BADgal black eyeliner, Yves Saint Laurent mascara, and some MAC lip gloss. She shook her head: Kat’s cowgirl-shaped rhinestone earrings danced on her earlobes. Maybe they were really diamonds; she made a mental note not to lose them. But she was sure they were insured. Anyway, work started tomorrow. No more borrowing after that. She tucked the brand-spanking-new credit card into her back pocket.

X was leaning against Kat’s Beemer smoking a cigarette. “Shop-Till-You-Drop is ready for action,” X pronounced, getting into the driver’s side. He stubbed out the butt as Lydia climbed into the front seat next to him. “You look delicious. If I was straight, I’d definitely—”

“If you were straight, I wouldn’t have begged you to take me shopping,” Lydia said. She kissed his cheek. “Straight men have terrible taste and hate to shop. That’s what it said in
Marie Claire.
”

X pulled the Beemer out of the driveway, then reached for an open pack of gum in the seat divider and popped a piece into his mouth. “Your aunts hate when I smoke. Want some?”

Lydia unwrapped a stick. “Live and let die,” she said easily, as she watched the lushly landscaped homes roll past and mentally calculated how long they’d have to shop. It was two o’clock. They had to pick Anya up at four-thirty at an
Out
magazine photo shoot that was being done at the Normandie Room, a gay club in West Hollywood. So, they had only a couple of hours to shop. It wasn’t much, but at least it would be a start. “So what’s up with my little cousins? They nice kids?”

“That is a subject I do not intend to touch.” X honked at a Jaguar in front of them. The female driver was yakking on her cell and oblivious to the changing light at the corner of Benedict Canyon and Sunset Boulevard.

“Why?”

“Because we would not just be gossiping about the family that employs us, dear heart. We’d be gossiping about
your
family. That’s why.”

A few minutes later, X pulled up to the valet stand on Rodeo Drive and Burton Avenue. A short Latino man in a red vest and black pants opened Lydia’s door. Then he trotted around the car and handed X the parking stub.

“Behold Two Rodeo Drive,” X sang out with a flourish of his hand. “Three blocks of the most expensive retail in the world.”

“Wow,” Lydia breathed, as she took in the sight of what she’d previously seen only in magazines.

“Exactly,” X agreed. “This is where every little girl learns that she too can grow up to be a hooker who looks like Julia Roberts, and marry a rich man who looks like Richard Gere.”

Lydia frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“
Pretty Woman
?”

Lydia shrugged. “Never heard of it.”

“God, you have a lot to learn.” X took her hand and led her past a long row of boutiques. Armani. Gucci. Christian Dior. Chanel. He stopped in front of a particularly posh boutique with one lone suit in the window. “Bijan.”

“Huh?”

“The most expensive store in the world, dear heart. Named for the Iranian gentleman who owns it. That suit, for example?” He gestured at the suit in the window. “It probably runs somewhere around twenty, twenty-three thou, more for the custom alterations. Throw in two hundred for the cashmere socks, six-fifty for the hand-sewn shirt, seven-fifty for the Italian loafers, and you’re talking twenty-five thousand easy for the ensemble, plus tax. That’s minus underwear and necktie. Although if you can afford the outfit, you can afford to get laid by someone gorgeous who won’t care that you’re not wearing your Calvins underneath.”

“Too bad he doesn’t sell women’s clothes.” Lydia chuckled. “I could do some damage in there.”

They kept walking until they reached a fairy-book tableau of romantic archways and bubbling fountains. A man in an old-fashioned livery costume greeted passersby near a latte cart. A group of Asian tourists snapped photos of each other with the fountain as a backdrop.

X shook his head. “The first rule of shopping on Rodeo Drive: No photo ops. Ever. It screams tacky tourist.”

“Got it. Can we go scream Chanel?”

A short walk took them back to the boutique, where a very slender young woman dressed entirely in black slid over to them. Her bright green eyes surveyed Lydia’s T-shirt with disapproval. “May I help you?” she asked in a French accent.

“Hey,” Lydia replied, exaggerating her slight Texas twang. “How y’all doing?”

“We all are doing quite well,” the saleswoman sniffed.

“Cool!” Lydia exclaimed. “I’d like to look around.”

“Very well. I will be at zee register.” The woman turned away.

“Bee-otch,” X muttered. “She pegged you. Texas tourist on a budget.”

“That’s why I laid on the ‘aw shucks’ accent,” Lydia explained. “We’ll, just have to prove the bee-otch wrong, won’t we?” She marched to a rack, found a twelve-thousand-dollar vintage pink-and-black-tweed suit, and held it up for X’s approval.

“You’ve got taste,” he told her. “Of course, you can’t wear the skirt with the jacket, it’s much too ladies-who-lunch-ish. I’d say, go with the jacket and jeans and do-me pumps; try the skirt with a tough-girl muscle tee and too much smoky eyeliner.”

“Will do.” Lydia went back to the racks and quickly gathered up two more suits, a black cocktail dress, and four silk shirts.

The French woman noticed Lydia’s growing pile of clothes and raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Zee changing room?” she asked.

“Unless y’all want me to strip down right here,” Lydia said brightly.

The clerk looked faint and opened a door to the dressing room. It was larger than Lydia’s hut in the Amazon and featured three velvet-cushioned chairs, a silk brocade love seat, and a two-hundred-seventy-degree array of mirrors. “
Monsieur
would like to come in wiz you?”

“You know,
monsieur
would,” Lydia said. “But if I strip in front of him, he just won’t be able to help himself, if you know what I mean. And I’d hate to stain up that cute little couch.”

She could hear X’s laughter as she sashayed inside. It was just like being a little girl in Houston again as she tried on garment after garment. She couldn’t make up her mind. So she did what she used to do in Houston—opted to buy them all.

Five minutes later, Lydia was at the cash register, watching the French clerk impassively total up her purchases: $24,428.44, tax included. Lydia handed over her credit card, feeling effervescent from the joy of shopping.

“We have time for one more boutique before we pick up my aunt, don’t we?” Lydia asked X. “Let’s do Christian Dior. No. Harry Winston. I need some bling of my own, seriously, and—”

“Mademoiselle?”
the cashier interrupted. “Zere is a bit of a problem. Your card has been declined.”

“It can’t be declined, it’s brand new,” Lydia insisted. “My aunt just gave it to me.”

“Maybe you’ve got a twenty thou limit,” X mused as the clerk pushed the card back to Lydia. “How boring.”

“Maybe so,” Lydia allowed grudgingly. She picked up one of the suits and separated it from the pile, then gave the clerk the card again. “One more time, please.”

But the same thing happened; the machine rejected the card. Lydia reduced her pile of clothes one more time. Same thing.

The clerk’s face went from implacable to irritated to withering. “Perhaps you should check wiz your bank,” she suggested. Then she walked away.

“Call Visa,” X advised. “There’s got to be some kind of screwup.”

“Good idea,” Lydia said. She took out her cell and called the number on the back of her credit card, following the voice prompts until she reached a recording that advised her of her credit limit.

“Your credit limit is one hundred dollars,” said the robotic voice.

Red-faced, Lydia motioned X out of the boutique, where she told him what she’d heard. “I can’t even buy a pair of socks here for under a hundred dollars! Maybe my aunt meant it to be a hundred
thousand
dollars or something.” She started to speed-dial Kat, then realized her aunt might be too busy packing up the kids for their return home. So she called Anya.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Anya? It’s Lydia.”

“What’s up? This is bad time. We’re just to finish shoot.”

“I’ll make it quick then. So, um, you and Kat know I don’t have any clothes. And I was just doing a little shopping on Rodeo Drive—”

“Not with hundred-dollar limit, you’re not,” Anya told her.

“What?”

“Card is for emergency only. Like Kat told you.”

Had her aunt mentioned that?
Honestly, Lydia hadn’t been paying a lot of attention, so thrilled had she been to have a credit card of her own.

“Well, not having clothes
is
an emergency,” Lydia insisted.

“If you want to shop on Rodeo Drive you must to save money,” Anya chided.

“How can I save money? You’re only paying me three hundred dollars a week!”

“With car, house, and meals,” Anya reminded her. “Hold on.” Lydia waited while Anya spoke to someone; then she got back on the line. “Now I am glad you called. We do change of plans. My shoot runs long, so go back to house and make children welcome, please.”

Lydia was confused. “But they’re not home yet.”

“I mean prepare for them. For tomorrow. Signs for rooms that say Welcome Home. Some balloons, maybe. Ask cook to bake vegan soy cookies. Children are lactose intolerant. I prepare list of children’s schedules. I will give to you later.”

“Okay,
fine,
” Lydia agreed with a long-suffering sigh. “But what about clothes? Am I supposed to just keep borrowing yours?”

“What clothes of mine did you borrow?” Anya asked sharply.

Shit.
“Never mind. I’ll take it up with Kat.”

“You will see, she and I agree on everything,” Anya predicted. “Two bodies, one mind. We talk later.”

She hung up. So did Lydia.

“Well?” X prompted. “Wal-Mart in East L.A.?”

Lydia shook her head. “I’d rather go naked,” she muttered. “Not only am I broke, we have to go back home so I can have the cook make vegan cookies for the kids, whatever the hell vegan cookies are.”

“They suck, dear heart,” X said cheerfully as they headed back toward the valet.

“So does my life,” Lydia said.

She had to face facts: She was a nanny. She was broke. Even if she was in a devoutly coveted zip code, she was still on the outside looking in.