The Nanny Diaries (4 page)

"Just promise me you'll think about it this time before you take a job. I don't want you graduating on Valium because some woman with more money than she knows what to do with left you her kid while sheranofftoCannes."

And I do think about it, while Josh and I listen to all the messages again trying to find the mother who soundsleastlikelytodojustthat.

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ThefollowingMondayonmywaytomeetMrs. XI make a quickstop atmyfavoritestationerystoreto stock up on Post-its. Today my Filofax only has two Post-its: a tiny pink one imploring me to "BUY MORE POST-ITS" and a green one reminding me that I have "Coffee, Mrs. X, 11:15." I pull off the pink one and toss it in the trash as I continue heading south to La Patisserie Gout du Mois, our appointed meeting place. As I cut across to Park I begin passing chic women in fall suits, all holding sheets of monogrammed stationery in their bejeweled hands. Each one walks in tandem with a shorter, dark-skinnedwoman,whonodsemphatically backatthem.

"Baa-llleeeet? Do-you-un-der-stand!" the woman next to me rudely shouts to her nodding companion aswewait forthelighttochange. "OnMondaysJosephinahasBaaaaaa-lleeeeeeet!"

I smile sympathetically at the uniformed woman to show solidarity. No bones about it, training just plainsucks.Anditsuckssignificantlyharder,dependingonwho you're workingfor.

Thereare essentially threetypes of nannygigs. TypeA, I provide "couple time" a few nights a weekfor people who work all day and parent most nights. Type B, I provide "sanity time" a few afternoons a weekto a woman who mothersmost days andnights. Type C,I'm broughtinasone of a cast of manyto collectively provide twenty-four/seven "me time" to a woman who neither works nor mothers.And her days remain a mysterytousall.

"Theagencysaidyoucancook.Canyou? Cook?" aPucci-cladmotherinterrogatesonthenextcorner.

As a working woman herself, the Type A mother will relate to me as a professional and treat me with respect. She knows I've arrived to do my job and, after a thorough tour, will hand me a comprehensive list of emergency numbers and skedaddle. This is the best transition a nanny can hope for. The child sobsfor,atmost,fifteenminutes,andbeforeyouknowitwe're bondingover Play-Doh.

TheType B mother may not work in an office, but she logs enough hours with her child to recognize it forthejob itisand,fol!

lowinganafternoonof hangingaroundtheapartmenttogether,her kidsare all minefortheseconddate.

"Nowthedrycleaner's number isonthereandthefloristandthecaterer."

"Whataboutthedoctorforthechildren?" theMexicanwoman nexttomeasks quietly.

"Oh. I'll getyouthatnextweek."

Suffice it to say that the quirk factor sharply increases as one moves along the spectrum from A to C. The only thing predictable about training with a Type C mother is that her pervasive insecurity forces everyone totakethelongestpossibleroutetogettinginsync.

I pushopentheheavyglassdoorof thepatisserieandseeMrs. Xalreadyseated,goingover her ownlist.

She stands, revealing a lavender knee-length skirt, which perfectly matches the cardigan tied around her shoulders. No longer in her youthful white shift, she looks older than she did in the park. Despite her girlish ponytail I'm guessing she's in her early forties. "Hi, Nanny, thanks so much for meeting me early. Wouldyoulikesomecoffee?"

"That sounds perfect, thank you," I say, taking a seat with my back to the wood-paneled wall and smoothingthedamasknapkinontomylap.

"Waiter,anothercafeau laitandcouldyoubringus abreadbasket?"

"Oh,youdon't needtodothat," I say.

"Oh, no, it's the best. That way you can pick what you want." The waiter brings over a Pierre Deux basketbrimming with breadsandlittlejarsof jam. I helpmyself to a brioche.

"They have the best pastry here," she says, taking a croissant. "Which reminds me, I prefer that Grayer

stayawayfromrefinedflour."

"Of course,"I mumble,mouthfull.

"Didyouhave aniceweekend?"

I quicklyswallow. "Sarah. y bestfriendfromChapin. ada

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little farewell party last night before everyone goes back to school. Now it's just me and the California

people. hohaveoff till October! Tell Grayer togotoStanford,"I laugh.

Shesmiles.

"So,why'd youtransferfromBrown?" sheasks,pulling oneclawoffhercroissant.

"They had a stronger child development program at NYU," I reply, trying to tread lightly here, in case

I'm talkingto a steadfastBrownalum, choosingnottomentionthehumanexcrement intheloungenext

tomyroom, oranyother of themyriad of charminganecdotesI couldshare.

"I reallywantedtogotoBrown,"shesays.

"Oh?"

"But I won a scholarship to UConn." She drops the croissant to play with the diamond heart dangling

fromher necklace.

"That's great," 1 say, trying toimagine a time whenshewouldhaveneeded ascholarship todoanything.

"Well, I'm fromConnecticut,so..."

"Oh!Connecticut'sbeautiful,"I say.

She glances down at her plate. "Actually, it was New London so ... Well, after graduation I moved here

torunGagosian. heartgallery."Shesmiles again.

"Wow. hatmust havebeenamazing."

"It was a lot of fun," she says, nodding, "but you can't really do it when you have a child. t's a full-

time life,parties, trips, a lotof shmoozing, a lotof latenights?

A woman in dark Jackie O sunglasses accidentally bumps our table as she passes, causing the china

saucerstoteeterprecariouslyonthemarble.

"Binky?" Mrs. X asks,reachinguptotouchthewoman's arm asI steadythecups.

"Oh, my God. Hi, I didn't even see you there,"the woman says, lowering her dark glasses. Her eyes are

swollen anddamp fromcry!ing. "I'm sorryI couldn't come toGrayer's birthdayparty. Consuelasaidit wasfabulous."

"I've beenmeaningtocall," Mrs. Xsays. "Is thereanythingI cando?"

"Not unless you know a hit man." She pulls a handkerchief out of her Tod's purse and blows her nose. "That lawyer Gina Zucker-man recommended couldn't help at all. It turns out all our assets are actually in Mark's company's name. He's getting the apartment, the yacht, the house in East Hampton. I'm getting four hundred thousand flat. hat's it." Mrs. X swallows and Binky continues tearfully. "And I have to supply complete receipts for every penny of child support spent. I mean, really.Am I supposed togetmyfacialsatBabyGap?"

"That's appalling."

"Then the judge had the nerve to tell me to go back to work! He has no idea what it means to be a mom."

"Noneof themdo,"Mrs. Xsays,tappingher listforemphasis,while I stareintentlyatmybrioche.

"If I had known he was going to go this far, I would have just turned a blind? Binky's voice breaks and she purses her glossy lips together to clear her throat. "Well, I've gotta run. onsuela has another 'appointment' for her hip replacement." She speaks with venom. "I swear, it's the third one this month. I'm really losing patience with her. Anyway, great to see you." She pushes her sunglasses back into placeand,with anair kiss, disappearsthroughthecrowdawaitingtables.

"Well..." Mrs. X stares after her, her face locked briefly into a grimace before returning her attention to me. "Well, let's just go over the week. I've typed this all up for you, so you can review it later. We'll walk over to school now, so Grayer can seeus together and get the sensethatI'm trusting you with him. That should relax him. He has a play date at one-thirty, so that'll give you just enough time to have lunchinthepark andyet not overwhelmhim. Then

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tomorrow you and Caitlin can both spend the afternoon with him, so you can get a sense of his routine and he can see the authority being shared between you. I'd appreciate it if you didn't discuss the transitionwith heratthis point."

"Of course,"I say, trying toabsorb itall, thebrioches,thebriefing,Binky. "Thankyouforbreakfast."

"Oh, don't mention it." She stands, pulling a blue folder that says "Nanny" out of her Hermes bag and sliding it across the table. "I'm so glad Tuesdays and Thursdays fit into your class schedule. I think it'll be great for Grayer to have someone young and fun to play with.'m sure he gets tired of boring old Mom!"

"Grayer seemsgreat," I say, recallinghis giggles inthepark.

"Well, hehashis littlethings,likeanykid,I suppose."

I gather my bag, glancing down and noticing her lavender silk heels for the first time. "God, those are beautiful!AretheyPrada?" Iask, recognizingthesilver buckle.

"Oh, thank you." She turns her ankle. "Yes, they are. You really like them?" I nod. "You don't think they're too ... loud?"

"Oh,no,"I say, followingher outof thecafe.

"My best friend just had a baby and her feet went up a whole size. She let me pick out what I wanted, but I... I don't know." She glances down at her shoes in consternation as we wait for the light. "I guess I've justgottenusedtowearingflats."

"No,they're great.You shoulddefinitely keepthem."

Shesmiles, delighted,assheslidesonhersunglasses.

Mrs. Butters, Grayer's teacher, smiles at me and shakes my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you." She looks down adoringly. "You are going to love Grayer, he's a very special little boy." She pats her corduroy apron dress, which fits loosely over her puffed-sleeve blouse. With her round,dimpled cheeks andplump, dimpledhandsshelooksmuchlike afour-year-oldherself.

"Hi,Grayer!" I say, smilingdownatthetop of his blondhead.He's wearing a littlewhite oxfordbutton!down Poloshirt, untuckedon oneside, containingthe evidence of a morninghard atwork: finger paint, whatlookslikeglue,andonelonemacaroni. "Howwasschooltoday?"

"Grayer, you remember Nanny? You two are going to have lunch at the playground!" his mother prompts him.

Heslumpsagainsther legandglares atme. "Go away."

"Honey, we can have snack together, but Mommy has an appointment.You two are going to have such a goodtime!Nowhop inyourstroller andNannywill give yousnack."

As we approach the playground he and I both listen attentively to the long list of Grayer's Likes and Dislikes: "He loves the slide, but the monkey bars bore him. Don't let him pick anything up off the ground. elikes todothat.Andpleasekeephimawayfromthedrinkingfountainbytheclock."

"Urn, what should I do if he needs to use the bathroom? Where should he go?" I ask as we pass under thedustywoodenarchesof theSixty-sixth Streetplayground.

"Oh,anywhere."

I'm justabouttoaskfor a littleclarification onthepeeingthingwhenher cellphonerings.

"Okay, Mommy's gotta go," she says, snapping her Startac closed. Her departure is like the suicide drills from gym class. very time she gets just a few feet farther away, Grayer cries and she scurries back, admonishing, "Now, let's be a big boy." Only once Grayer is in complete hysterics does she look ather watchandwith a"NowMommy's goingtobelate" isgone.

We sit on the only empty bench in the shade, while he sniffles, and eat our sandwiches, which have some sortof vegetable spreadin themand, I think,unbologna.As he raises his sleeve towipe his nose I notice for the first time, dangling from beneath his untucked shirttails, what appears to be a business cardpinnedtohis beltloop.

I reachout. "Grayer,what'swith the?

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"Hey!" He swats my hand away. "That's my card." It's dirty and bent and has clearly been around the block afew times,butI thinkI canmakeout Mr. X's nameinfadedtype.

"Whosecardis that,Grayer?"

"You know." He pounds his forehead, exasperated by my ignorance. "My card. Jeez. Push me on the

swings!"

By the time we're done eating and I've given him a few pushes it's time for us to walk over to his play

date. I wave as he runs into the apartment. "Okay, bye, Grayer! See you tomorrow!" He screeches to a

halt, turns around, sticks his tongue out at me and then runs off. "Okay, have fun!" I smile at the other

nannyasif tosay"Oh,that?That's justourtonguegame!"

Once I'm on the subway to school I pull out the blue folder, which has my pay envelope paper-clipped

inside.

MRS. X

721PARKAVENUE,APT. 9B

NEWYORK, N.Y., 10021

DearNanny,

Welcome! Theattachedis acopyofGrayer. scheduleofafter-schoolactivities. Caitlinwillshow

you theroutine, but I. sureyou. ebeentomostoftheseplacesbefore! Letmeknowifyouhave

anyquestions.

Thanks,Mrs. X

p.s. ?I. ealsoincludeda listof somepossiblefunactivities

p.p.s. I reallyprefer itif Grayer doesn. nap intheafternoons

I glanceatthescheduleandshe's right.'m aveteran of every activity onthelist. MONDAY 2-2:45: Music lesson, Diller Quaile, 95th Street between Park and Madison (Parents pay an

astronomical sum for this prestigious music school where four'jear'olds usually sit in stone-cold silence astheircaregivers singnurseryrhymes in a circle.) 5-5:45: Mommy & Me,92ndStreetY onLexington (Asthenameimplies,mothersareexpectedtogo.Nevertheless, half of the groupisnannies.)