The Nannies (18 page)

37

Esme had worn the pink sweater because it was Junior’s favorite, and painted her lips the same color. Her perfume was the one he’d bought her for her last birthday. He’d see that she was trying, that she was still the girl he’d fallen in love with. They could work it all out, she was certain of it.

Two and a half hours after she’d changed the tire on the Audi in fourteen minutes—and won her bet with Jonathan—she nervously pulled the Audi into an open parking place on First Street in Alhambra, a mostly Latino neighborhood east of the Echo. Before she could turn off the engine, she could hear and feel hot salsa pour from the open door of the club.

At least she didn’t have the added worry of Diane’s anger. When they’d gotten the girls home, the Goldhagens were in the family room with another couple, sipping brandy from snifters. The men were smoking cigars, probably Cuban. Diane hadn’t said a word about Esme and Jonathan’s impromptu excursion. But then it seemed as if maybe Diane had already had a couple of brandies herself.

Esme and Jonathan put the girls to bed, then Esme had departed. Jonathan had clearly wanted the evening to continue, but she shut him down. And out.

She crossed the street to the club; a line of revelers snaked from the front door. There was Junior, tough and cool, leaning against a lamppost. “Hey.” He took her elbow. “I’m glad you’re here. Let’s go for a drive.”

“A drive?” Esme was confused. “You don’t want to dance?”

“Changed my mind.” He took her hand and led her to his pride and joy—a classic yellow Dodge Charger with a 357 Hemi engine he had modified himself. Ten minutes later, they were cruising west on the 10 freeway toward downtown. For a long time, neither spoke. The thick silence between them felt unbridgeable.

“It’s like you been away from the Echo for a long time, eh?” he asked, eyes on the road.

“Yeah.”

How could she deny it? It was only days, but it felt like a lifetime. No matter how tense she found herself, she knew that there were some things she was already getting used to: living in a beautiful house, driving a fabulous car, going to the country club. When she or the kids got hungry, she liked ordering what they wanted and signing the tab to the Goldhagens’ account. And she liked her new friends, Lydia and Kiley, maybe because they were as much outsiders in Beverly Hills as she was.

She didn’t say any of that. Instead she said,
“The Echo es
mi casa.”

“Not anymore, Esme.” He shifted lanes and zoomed past a lumbering tractor-trailer.

“Of course it is,” she insisted. “Just because I work over there—”

“Your parents
work
there,” Junior interrupted. “You
live
there.”

“No. I
stay
there. That doesn’t make it home.”

“You’re always good with words, Esme, but it’s bullshit, eh. Everything is changing.” His quick glance tore at her.

“It’s only a trial period, remember?” she reminded him.

“Well, you sure as hell got yourself into the shit during your damn trial period. I hear about you at some richie-rich party with a gringo. My boys go to talk to you—and find you with that same guy!”

“His name is Jonathan. And he’s not . . . we’re not . . .”

“Then why was he in your kitchen when you’re in your nightclothes, and you’re giving him a tattoo, eh?”

“It wasn’t like—”

Junior waved a hand to silence her. “I’m not finished. Then your loco friend and her little potion—whatever that shit was that laid those boys out—she must be loco, Esme. You think they won’t come back and give her worse?”

“No. Because you—”

“Jesus, Esme. Don’t you get it? Los Locos has a grudge on for all of you. You, this rich gringo, your girlfriend. Shit. What a mess you made.”

Stung, she stared out the window, watching downtown pass by on the right. In the distance, she could see the floodlit Hollywood sign up in the hills. “You told me to take this job, Junior.”

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t expect you to start a war.”

He gripped the wheel tightly, accelerated, and shot around another truck, veering off the freeway at Vermont Avenue. They motored over surface streets until he started them back east on the freeway toward Alhambra again. “It comes down to this, Esme. You have to make a choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t live with one foot in their world and one in mine.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said. But you see what’s happening. You want to be responsible for what goes down next?” Junior asked. “Do you?”

Esme gulped. “No.”

“So you figure it out. When this trial period is over, either come home or leave home. You got to choose, Esme.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Listen to me. I think I can talk Los Locos from going after you or your friends. But only if you are home with me or gone from here. If they see that freaking Audi in the Echo one more time—”

“My family is in the Echo,” Esme said stonily. “Mama and Papa.”

“See them at work.” Junior’s voice was hard. “Or come home and be who you were. You quit, it’s like all this shit never happened. Esme, you can’t have both.”

She felt lost, abandoned. “You love me, Junior?”

He cursed under his breath again. “How you want to do me, Esme? You want me to lay my heart at your feet so you can walk over it to Bel Air, eh?”

She shook her head, miserable. “I can’t do this.”

His voice grew gentle. “Yeah, you can.” He reached over and touched a lock of her hair. “You’ve always been special, Esme. You shine.”

Junior dropped Esme at her car. She had every intention of driving back to Bel Air. But she found herself pulling to a stop in front of her friend Jorge’s house, two blocks from her own. It was the nicest place in the area.

Jorge’s bedroom was on the main floor in front; his light was on. She rapped gently on the window; it took a moment for him to move the shade and peer out. Then it fell into place again.

A few moments later, he came outside. Esme was on the porch stoop, lost in thought. Silently, he sat next to her. Esme’s mother had asked more than once why Jorge wasn’t more than her best friend. Jorge was medium height and skinny, with beautiful hazel eyes that seemed to take in everything. He was brilliant and talented, he had morals, and he came from a good and educated family. Why hadn’t they hooked up?

Esme didn’t know, really. She didn’t want to believe that Jorge wasn’t macho enough, because she didn’t like what it said about her. She preferred to think that she didn’t want to risk messing up their friendship.

“You just happened to be in the neighborhood?” he asked her. A lowrider trolled by, Fat Joe’s “Lean Back” booming from its sound system. Esme waited for it to pass.

“I was out with Junior.” She didn’t mention Jonathan. But she did tell him about Junior’s ultimatum.

“Well, this is one of the few times that he and I actually agree about something.”

“You were supposed to tell me he’s full of shit, eh.”

“You know where that came from?” Jorge asked.

Esme had no idea what he was talking about. “What?”

“That ‘eh’ thing at the end of a sentence,” Jorge said. “It comes from esa, which comes from S.A. Which stands for Spanish American. You know. On some form where it said Caucasian, African American, Other. We’re the Other.”

She cut her eyes at him. “Does everything have to be political with you?”

“Pretty much. Anyway,” Jorge went on, “you already know how I feel about Junior.”

Esme nodded. She raised her knees to her chin and circled them with her arms.

“Junior, those other
cholos,
they’re going nowhere but jail or the grave,” Jorge went on. “That’s the gangsta life.”

“It’s mine, too,” Esme declared.

Jorge folded his arms. “If you say so.”

She leaned her head on her knees. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you always know better.”

“I do know better,” he said. “You think your parents work six days a week for those people, smile ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and ‘whatever you say,’ wash their clothes and scrub their toilets, so you can be a gangbanger
chica
?”

“You know I’m not a . . . Jorge, this is making me crazy.” Esme rubbed her temples. “You told me I should stay in the Echo until college just like you’re—”

“Not if it means you’re with Junior,” he interrupted.

“I’m not going to do anything stupid just because he’s my boyfriend. Besides, I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, you’re all macho now?”

She gave him a stony look. “Yes.”

“You hooked up with Junior for his power, Esme. If you felt so strong on your own, you would have cut him loose a long time ago.”

Was that true? Esme stood and shivered in the cool night air. “You always know better, huh.”

He stood too. “Only one thing I know for sure, Esme.”

She gazed up into his beautiful hazel eyes. “What?” “Wherever you go,
esa,
there you are.”

He hugged her. She hugged him back. Then she turned and walked back to the Audi.

Five minutes later, she was two blocks away—in the driveway of her parents’ rented bungalow, the Audi’s motor running, her history washing over her. She longed to spend the night in her own scarred bed with the lumpy mattress and the street sounds and smells and sirens wailing in through the barred windows. But was that really what she wanted? Or was she brave enough to move forward on her own?

With one hand on her memories and the other on the wheel, she pulled out of the driveway and away from the Echo, knowing full well that if she kept going, she could never really come home again.

38

“Hate it. Hate it. Out of style. Send it to Dakota Fanning. Too small. Gag me.”

One by one, Kiley held up the outfits that had once occupied Serenity’s closet and were now strewn across the girl’s canopy bed. One by one, Serenity had ordered their demise. They were going shopping that afternoon at Nordstrom’s. Serenity had decreed that her wardrobe be pruned prior to the expedition. The three piles of clothes already on the floor were evidence of the ruthlessness of her triage.

“Okay, that’s it for the bed,” Kiley told the girl, who sat in her white sandalwood rocker. She went to the walk-in closet and took out the last items remaining—two pairs of DKNY Kids jeans, and two Patricia Field custom-designed dresses—one a floral print with a scalloped hem and a sheer overslip, the other a black sequin with spaghetti straps. Kiley couldn’t imagine where a girl Serenity’s age could possibly wear such clothes.

“You really want to chuck everything but these?” she asked Serenity.

“Yep. Call the maid to take it all away.”

“To Goodwill?” Kiley asked. She was aghast at the girl’s acquisitiveness but pleased that someone was going to get an outstanding new wardrobe at a rock-bottom thrift store price.

“I don’t care. Can we go now? I’m gonna get so much cool stuff. I’m getting silk thongs, like about twenty of them.”

“You’re kind of young for thongs.” Kiley went to the piles of clothes and started to separate them further—the shirts to one side, pants to another, skirts and dresses to another. “Can you help me, please?”

Serenity ignored her. “My mom says I can wear whatever I want. It’s how I express myself. That’s why I have an unlimited budget.”

Kiley thought that was fortuitous, since Serenity planned to buy Madonna’s entire English Roses girls’ clothing collection, designed to go with her children’s book, at Nordstrom’s. After that, they were heading for Celine’s on Montana Avenue. Serenity had explained that Madonna’s daughter, Lourdes, always wore a certain two-hundred-dollar rhinestone belt that she’d purchased at Celine’s.

Platinum had accounts at both stores, so Kiley’s sole responsibility would be to supervise. Kiley didn’t even have to wait around for a receipt. Platinum herself had wanted to take her daughter, but had been called into the studio even though it was a Sunday. The duet she was doing with someone from Destiny’s Child for a CD called
Dueling Divas
wasn’t going well, because the divas were really dueling.

“Did your mom put
any
limits on what you could buy?” Kiley asked. She pushed the separated piles farther apart, hoping to save some work for the people at Goodwill.

“Yep.” Serenity rocked hard in her chair. “No white. Because if it’s white I’d be copying her. You think my mom is pretty?”

“Very,” Kiley said.

“Is your mom pretty?”

“Very.”

Kiley’s gaze landed on an empty plastic toy box, similar to the one in their garage at home where her father kept his tools. It gave her a sudden longing for La Crosse, her house, especially her parents. At moments like these, when Serenity was dominating her life, her reasons for coming to California and taking this job seemed remote.

“I have a great idea, for after we go shopping,” Kiley said as she packed clothes for Goodwill into the toy box. “Let’s go to the ocean.”

Serenity looked at Kiley as if she was crazy. “If you want to swim, we can go to the country club.”

“Not to swim,” Kiley said, putting more of Serenity’s discarded outfits into the box. “Just to hang out. Or to build a sand castle.”

Serenity made a face. “I hate the ocean.”

Kiley was astonished. “Why?”

“It’s yucky,” Serenity decreed. “Fish poop in it. All that sand. Plus there aren’t any waiters. Get the jeans out of my closet. I want new ones.”

So much for that great notion.

Serenity tapped one foot impatiently. “Umm, the jeans?” When Kiley didn’t move fast enough, she charged into her closet, tossed out the jeans, and reappeared. “Let’s talk about boys. Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Yep,” Kiley fibbed. “His name is Tom Chappelle and he’s a gorgeous model.”

Serenity’s eyes grew huge. “Really?”

“No, not really. I met him, though.”

“Did you ask him to be your boyfriend?”

Before Kiley could respond, Sid stomped into the room, ranting. “I hate that asshole!”

“What asshole?” Kiley asked absentmindedly. When she stooped to retrieve the jeans, she uncovered a black How & Wen capelet that had somehow ended up under Serenity’s bed. It still had its price tag: $263.

“Jeff Greenberg, that’s who,” Sid thundered. “My damn male mentor. Who doesn’t know a thing about Yu-Gi-Oh.”

“Hi.”

A guy appeared in the doorway, short and cute, with cropped blond hair and round glasses. “I’m the damn male mentor.”

“What
is
a male mentor?” Kiley asked.

“Sid’s therapist said he needed more positive male role models in his life. Platinum hired me yesterday,” Jeff explained. “I’m a psych grad student, UCLA.”

“That makes you a male mentor?”

“Got me,” Jeff said. “Anyway, my psych prof recommended me and it pays a whole lot better than being a TA. Platinum said she’d tell you about me.”

“She didn’t.”

“You’re the nanny, right?”

Kiley nodded. “Yep.”

“Well, call her,” Jeff suggested. He sat on Serenity’s bed.

Great idea. I remember what happened the last time I did that.
She nearly took my head o f.

“He wants to take me to a bullshit Dodgers game,” Sid seethed to his sister. “I hate baseball.”

“Don’t say bullshit,” Kiley corrected him.

“Fine. Stupid bullshit.”

“Dickweed,” Serenity said, getting in on it.

“Bee-otch!”

Suddenly, Kiley smacked her palm against one of the posters of Serenity’s bed. The sound reverberated like a gunshot. “Stop it!” she thundered. “Both of you!”

The two stunned kids stared at her. So did the male mentor. “New policy. Every day that you don’t use any swearwords, I’ll give you a reward,” Kiley offered. “How about that?”

“Like what?” Sid asked warily.

“Like . . . Mrs. Cleveland’s candy box,” Kiley said.

Both children burst out laughing.

“We get that whenever we want.” Serenity chortled.

“Okay, well, I’ll think of something and we’ll talk about it later,” Kiley said, mostly because it occurred to her that both kids got pretty much anything they wanted already.

Jeff checked his watch. “You’ve got tae kwon do in twenty minutes, Sid. Before we go to the game. Get a move on.”

“Just a sec, Sid,” Kiley instructed. She went to the in-house intercom system and buzzed Mrs. Cleveland. The older woman confirmed that Jeff Greenberg was indeed Sid’s male mentor.

“Okay, thanks.” Kiley clicked off. “You’re cleared for take-off, guys.”

“But I don’t want to go,” Sid said with a pout.

“Come on,” Jeff urged. “I’ll buy you a Dodger dog and a beer.”

Sid’s face lit up. “Sweet!”

“
Root
beer.” Jeff cuffed Sid lightly on the back of the head and followed the boy out the door.

“Call the driver,” Serenity told Kiley when they were gone. She headed for her bathroom. “I’ll be right back. I need lip gloss.”

Before Kiley could decide whether to inform the girl that almost-eight-year-olds customarily did not wear lip gloss, her cell rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey Kiley. It’s Lydia.”

“Hi, what’s up?” Kiley sat on the bed. She’d deal with Serenity’s makeup issues another time.

“You have to work tonight?”

“I’m off at seven until Tuesday morning, actually. I was thinking of calling you and Esme. I thought maybe you guys would like to take a drive to the ocean. And after that, we could see
The Ten
at—”

“That stuff can wait,” Lydia interrupted. “I have the most fantastic idea in the history of fantastic ideas, swear to God, but I have to tell y’all in person. Can you meet me at my house tonight? Around eight? Esme already said yes.”

Well, she could go to the ocean later. And to a late movie. “Fine, I’m in.”

“Excellent. And forget the movie. We’re going clubbing and getting crazy. Come looking hot, girl.”

Kiley laughed. “I don’t think I do ‘hot’ but I’ll work on it. Later.”

As she hung up, Serenity came out of the bathroom wearing mascara and blush, and carrying a vial of Lip Venom.

“Where did you get that makeup?” Kiley asked.

“My mom’s dressing room. She’s got tons of it. All the cosmetic companies give her stuff for free.”

“Well, you shouldn’t take it without asking.”

With a knowing look, Serenity tossed the lip gloss to Kiley, who caught it without thinking. “Here,” said the girl. “You need it a lot more than I do.”