You'll Never Nanny in This Town Again: The True Adventures of a Hollywood Nanny (25 page)

I decided to stop stewing about Judy not liking me and start stewing over baby food. I was so eager to try my new recipes for healthy veggie purees. One night I was feeding Brandon my carrot and squash medley, but he didn’t seem all that interested. Judy walked in right when he was craning his head as far away from me as possible.

“What is that?” she asked in disgust.

“Well, I don’t think he likes it,” I said.

She looked down at the orange slush. “Well, look at it, of course he doesn’t!” she said. “Would
you
like to eat that?”

Well, no, I have teeth
.

I needed my nightly conversations with Mandie more and more.

As bad as I thought I had it, she had it worse. Mrs. Goldberg once sent Mandie on a routine errand to Rodeo Drive to pick up some clothes she’d ordered. Price: $700. Mandie only had $83 in her checking account, so she returned empty-handed and was promptly berated.

“Mandie, where are my camisoles?” Mrs. Goldberg demanded. “Or did you forget to stop by the boutique?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Goldberg, I didn’t have the money in my checking account.”

“But you know I always reimburse you for it on your next
paycheck,”
she responded.

“I know and I appreciate that; it’s just that I didn’t have enough money in my account at the time I was writing the check, and my dad has always told me to—”

“You always need to have enough money in your account to be able to run errands for me,” Mrs. Goldberg interrupted.

Mandie said nothing. For her first six months of work—until she paid off her half of the agency fee—her bimonthly paycheck had been $428 after taxes. She was now making a whopping $478 every two weeks, but her next paycheck wouldn’t be coming until the following Friday. She didn’t want to bounce a check, but she didn’t want her boss berating her for only having $83 in available funds.

Hearing the story worked me into a rage. “Then tell her to pay you more if she expects you to keep that kind of money in your checking account!” I screamed. “Or, for that matter, have her give you a credit card for her stuff. This is totally ludicrous.”

Mandie seemed embarrassed, and I hung up quickly. But I kept stewing about the money thing. I got out my calculator and started figuring out how much money middle America generally has to spend on childcare. When I was finished, I figured out if our employers were paying the same
percentage
of their income that a family earning $80,000 a year spends on childcare, a nanny to the wealthy would be paid a six-figure salary. Ridiculous. Well, not so ridiculous for a suburban family who is
actually
paying 14 percent of their gross income to their children’s caregiver.

I know, I had to get a life.

Why was I spending all this energy being angry when I could be working on changing my own situation? I had to stop criticizing Mandie all the time. Maybe my mother’s little saying about walking in other people’s shoes, washing their socks or whatever, had some validity.

I guessed part of the reason was that I didn’t care that much anymore. I no longer wanted to be the perfect employee and I wasn’t at all interested in spending all my time and energy trying to please my bosses. My take on the world was a galaxy apart from theirs, so I figured I might as well enjoy myself as much as I could during the day, have fun
with the staff, and engage the children in as many activities as they would tolerate. I ordered myself to stop worrying every morning about whether Judy was mad at me. She seemed to be unhappy most of the time, and I decided to stop automatically assuming that it was because of me. I was done being a stress case.

But then I had a horrible suspicion. I rounded up Delma to help me test it out.

“Delma, stand here, outside my door,” I directed, heart pounding, then closed the door and sat on my bed. I chatted to myself, in a normal tone, pretending that I was talking to Mandie on the phone. Finally I jumped up and opened the door.

“Well, could you hear me?” I asked.

Delma proceeded to recite, verbatim, my entire fictional conversation.

Oh my God. The countless phone conversations I’d had with Mandie flew through my head. Who knows what I’d said while Judy was listening? No wonder she acted so strange around me. Maybe I should wrap a pillow around my head to muffle my voice from now on. Oh, it was probably too late. The damage was done.

My mother called to tell me that my younger sister, Traci, and her best friend, Nancy, were taking a trip through California with Nancy’s family. “Of course they want to come and visit you when they’re in LA,” my mother said.

“That’s great!” I said. “I’m dying to see some Oregonians.”

“I’m very happy for you, honey, and Traci’s excited, too, but I think you should keep a couple of things in mind. Now, you know we love Nancy and her family, but let’s face it, they’re not exactly going to blend in down there. And you should keep in mind that the Ovitzes might be surprised that people take their road trips in an old truck and camper.”

Great point. Nancy’s dad was the greatest guy you’d ever know, and he’d give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. But he was kind of like Jed Clampett without the millions, even though he did live close to an old gold mine near Cottage Grove. I started praying that Nancy’s uncle wouldn’t be traveling with them. He was a dead ringer for the kind of people Larry the Cable Guy likes to talk about. Even their dog,
Blue, was a character. He could drink more beer than a human when he had a mind to.

I thought about my employers’ lives and what they didn’t experience on a daily basis, insulated as they were by wealth and power. Little things like the signs I had seen all my life:

Several days later, the old Chevy pickup pulled up out front. There was Nancy’s dad, Gary, behind the wheel, his latest hunting trophy—a large pair of antlers—strapped to the grill. Suitcases and duffel bags piled up in the uncovered truck bed, and the Chevy was towing an ancient camper trailer that looked a little dented and rusty. I bolted downstairs as I heard the front gate buzzer ring. I found Judy staring openmouthed out the front door of the house.

“What on earth is that out on the street?” she gasped.

“Just a sec, it’s my sister,” I said, flying past her. I ran to the gate to meet them. Just as I approached, Blue jumped out and proceeded to relieve himself on a palm tree. At least he wasn’t lapping up Bud Light.

“Sorry; he had to go real bad,” Gary said. “I ‘spect this neighborhood has some kind of rules about pets. It’s pretty upscale.” A wave of homesickness suddenly swept over me, hearing his familiar voice. I wanted to be with “regular” people again.

I hugged everyone, holding Traci especially tight. Overjoyed barely came close to describing how happy I was to see them, but I also
knew that my boss was still standing in the door zapping us with her disapproving radar. But I didn’t care. Today was Saturday, my day off. I could stand out here all day if I wanted to.

I just hoped she wouldn’t come closer and say anything to embarrass them. She’d probably have a nervous breakdown if I opened the gate and let them pull in. Traci kept looking at me like,
Okay, now what? Aren’t you going to invite us in?

But I knew I couldn’t. We stood and chatted for about thirty minutes, and I grew more and more angry with myself. I was strong enough to stand there and withstand Judy’s stares, but I knew I couldn’t bring myself to show my sister and her best friend into the house where I lived.

Fall rolled in, and Halloween passed without any fanfare. I’d been wondering how it would work. Would we buzz each gate and scream “Trick or treat” into every intercom in the neighborhood? I needn’t have worried; the kids didn’t dress up or go out at all that night. Guess their parents didn’t want them to collect bags full of artificial flavors and colors.

Chin up, chin up; on to Thanksgiving in Hawaii. After six long hours on our ill-fated flight, we landed, thank God. Later our entourage met up with Al Checchi’s group: Al, his wife and three kids, plus their nanny, Jenna. She was a cute girl about my age with long, shiny black hair and a wide smile, but she was a lot bolder and wilder than me. I didn’t know much about Mr. Checchi other than that he was a bigwig with some airline, and Judy said he had more money than they did. (But after the first twenty million, did it really matter who had more?)

While we were checking in at the Hilton on the Big Island, Jenna asked me if I’d join her that evening for a night on the town. I gaped at her.

“You get to go out?” I inquired. “I mean, you really get to
leave?

“Of course. I’m off at six while we’re in Hawaii.”

No way
. The thought of being “off duty” on vacation had never even entered my mind. Because she watched three kids of similar ages, I had assumed that our situations were the same. I tried to breathe.
Okay, don’t get angry. You did this to yourself. Just one more example of you not asserting yourself
.

“Just ask Mrs. Ovitz if you can go out with me,” she said, carefree.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Never mind, I’ll do it,” she said, as if it was no big thing. My knees shook at the thought.

She did it right then, all confident and direct. But Judy’s cold silence made it clear that she wasn’t exactly crazy about the idea. Later, when we were alone, I was told that Jenna’s request was impossible to accommodate, and I would not be going out that night or any other night. In short, Jenna had not gotten on Judy’s good side. The next day, Jenna raised Judy’s temperature a few more degrees when she started massaging Michael’s shoulders as he sat in a lounge chair. It wasn’t like she was coming on to him, but I thought it was quite strange and could see why his wife would be annoyed with her unwarranted familiarity. To top it off, after she assessed his rigid neck muscles, Jenna told Michael that he should lighten up a bit, just as casually as you please. For once Michael was too stunned to take control. Or maybe he was silently enjoying the rubdown. Judy didn’t say anything, either, but I can still picture the look on her face. I think the casual violation of personal body space had so shocked her sensibilities that she couldn’t even begin to formulate words. I didn’t think she, herself, would be comfortable enough to touch him like that without an invitation.

The next day, in the living area of my suite, Judy made a point of telling me that “that girl,” which became Jenna’s name for the rest of the trip, “did not know her place.”

While she was rambling on, a knock came at the door. Jenna. When I invited her in, Judy immediately bolted. Jenna and I flopped on the bed while I related the story, which started us on a whole litany of comparative tales. Instant nanny camaraderie! It’s funny how the subject of money always comes up when nannies get together.

“Did you guys come to the airport in a limousine?” Jenna asked.

“Yes,” I said. “We always do when we go places as a family.”

“Mr. Checchi would never allow that. He made the cook drive us all in the old Suburban; he said a limo was frivolous.” This was the same man who paid for his nanny to fly first class?

I laughed knowingly. Oh so knowingly.

“You think that’s weird? Get a load of this. When we got here, they made a big to-do about no one using the honor bar. Under no circumstances were the children and I to eat or drink anything from it. Judy said she’d buy juice at the grocery store for the kids. And yet she has no problem sending the kids’ underwear out with the bellman to be cleaned and pressed.”

Jenna laughed. “My friend, who’s a nanny for a big director who gets six million dollars a picture, actually had the mother speak to her about using too much toilet paper. The mother requested the nanny be more conscientious about the children’s wastefulness.”

“And get this,” I said, just warming up. “The best part was last night after we checked in and I helped Judy unpack, a bellman rolled in this enormous basket of fresh fruit, soda on ice, and an assortment of cookies. When Michael came in and saw it, he had an absolute conniption.

“ ‘Suzy, did you order this? Judy, did you?’

“ ‘No,’ we said.

“ ‘Well, I’m not paying for that! Call them to take it back.’