The Nanny Diaries Read online

  We headtoward theparkastheychatter away. Shepropelshim

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  forward with ease, though he can't be a light load with his sand toys, school stuff, and backup supplies of snack.

  "Grayer,who's yourbestfriendatschool?"I ask.

  "Shut up, stupidhead," he says, kicking out at my shins. I walk the remainder of the way well outside his fieldof stroller vision.

  After lunch Caitlin takes me around to meet the other nannies in the playground, most of whom are Irish, Jamaican, or Filipino. They each give me a quick, cold appraisal and I get the sense I won't be making alotof friendshere.

  "So whatdoyoudoduringtheweek?" sheaskssuspiciously.

  "I'm asenioratNYU,"I say.

  "I couldn't figure out how she found someone who only wanted to work weekends." What? Weekends what?

  She reties her ponytail while she continues. "I'd do it, but I wait tables on the weekends and, really, one needs a bit of a break by Friday. I thought they had a girl who worked weekends in the country, but I guess she didn't work out. Are you planning on driving out with them to Connecticut on Friday nights or takingthetrain?" ShelookspointedlyatmeasI starebackatherinconfusion.

  Thenit is suddenlyclearto both of us whywe aren't meant to discuss the "transition." I'm not the pinch hitter,I'm thereplacement.A sadnessflickersover herfeatures.

  I reachtochangethesubject. "So,what's with thecard?"

  "Oh, that grotty old thing." She swallows. "He carries it everywhere. He'll be wanting it pinned to his trousers and in his pajamas. It drives the Mrs. crazy, but he refuses to so much as put on his underpants withoutit."Sheblinks a fewtimes andthenturnsaway.

  We make it full circle back to the sandbox where another family, who I assume from their matching shell suitsandoverwhelming zestforlifearetourists,is playing.

  "He's so cute. Is he your only child?" the mother asks in a flat Midwestern accent. I'm twenty-one. He's four.

  "No,I'm his?

  "I told you to get out of here, you bad woman!" Grayer hurls his stroller at me, screaming at the top of his lungs.

  Blood rushes to my face as I retort with false confidence, "You ... silly!" The tourist clan focus intently on agroup sand-castleproject.

  I consider taking a playground poll as to whether I should "get out" and, if I choose not to, does this, in fact,makeme a"badwoman"?

  Caitlin rights the stroller as if his throwing it were part of a fabulous game we're playing. "Well, looks to me like somebody has a bit of energy and wants me to catch him!" She chases him all over the playground, laughing deeply. He slides down the slide and she catches him. He hides behind the monkey bars and she catches him. There is a lot of catching overall. I start to chase her as she chases him, butgive upwhenhelookspleadinglyintomyeyes, moaning "STOaaaooop."I walkto a bench.As I watch themplayI haveto handit to her. She has perfectedthemagic act thatis child care, creating the illusionof aneffortlessrelationship; shecouldbehis mother.

  Eventually, Caitlin drags him over to me with a Frisbee in hand. "Well now,Grayer, whydon't we teach Nanny the Frisbee game?" We stand in triangular formation as she tosses the Frisbee to me. I catch it and toss it to Grayer, who gracefully receives it by sticking out his tongue and turning his back to both of us. I pick up the Frisbee from where it has landed by his feet and toss it back to her. She throws it to himandhecatchesitandthrowsitbackto her. It seemstotakehours,thishaltingcircuit thatcomes to a full stop whenever contact is required between him and me. He simply denies thatI exist and sticks out his tongue at any effort to prove otherwise. We play on and on because she wants to make it right and thinks maybe she can wear him down to the point where he will at least toss me a Frisbee. I think we have all setoursightsjust alittletoohigh.

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  Three days later, just as I bend over to pick up the grubby little sneaker Grayer has hurled into the Xes' marbleentryway,thefrontdoorslamsbehindmewith a loudbang.I jerkupright,still holdinghis shoe.

  "Shit."

  "I heard you! You said 'Shit.' You said it!" Muffled sounds of a gleeful Grayer make their way through theheavydoor.

  I steadymyvoice andreachfor a low, authoritative octave. "Grayer,openthedoor."

  "No! I can stick my fingers out at you and you can't see. I got my thung thitikin out, too." He's sticking his tongueoutatme.

  Okay, options. Option One, knock on crotchety-matron-across-the-way's door. Right, what am I going todothen?CallGrayer?Invite himover fortea?Hislittle fingerssweepoutbeneaththedoor.

  "Nanny, try to catch my fingers! Do it! Do it! Come on, catch "em!" I concentrate every muscle on not steppingonthem.

  Option Two, go down to the doorman and get extra keys. Right. By the time he finishes describing this toMrs. Xnoteven JoanCrawfordwouldhireme.

  "You're not even playing! I'm going to go take a bath. So don't ever come back here, okay? My mom said you don't ever have to come back." His voice gets quieter as he starts to move from the door. "Goingtogetinthetub."

  "GRAYER!" I scream before I catch my breath. "Don't walk away from this door. Ummm, I have a surprise out here for you." OptionThree, wait until Mrs. X gets home and tell her the truth: her son is a sociopath. But just as I settle on Option Three, the elevator door slides open and Mrs. X, her neighbor, andthedoorman all step out.

  "Nanny? Naaanny, I don't want your surprise. So go away. Really, really, go, get out of here." Well, at least we've all been updated. With a few "ahems" the neighbor lets herself into her apartment and the doormanhandsoffthepackagehe's beencarrying anddisappearsbackintotheelevator.

  I holdupGrayer's shoe.

  Asif for astudioaudience,Mrs. Xwhipsouther keys andproceedstoremedythesituation. "Well,then.

  Let's get this door open!" She laughs and unlocks the door. But she swings it open a little too quickly andcatchesoneof Grayer's fingers.

  "AHHhhhhhh.Nannybroke my hand!AAAAAHhhhhh. y hand is broke. Get out of HEERRrrreeee!

  GooOOOOoooo!"Hethrowshimself ontothefloor,sobbing,lostingrief.

  Mrs. X bendsdown,asif abouttoholdhim,thenstraightensup.

  "Well, looks like you really tuckered him out at the park! You can go on ahead. I'm sure you have a ton

  of homework to do. We'll see you Monday,then?" I reachcarefully inside thedoorway and put his shoe

  downinexchangeformybackpack.

  I clearmythroat. "Hejustthrewhis shoeandI?,

  At the sound of my voice Grayer lets out a fresh wail. "LEEAAAVVE!Ahhahhha."She stares down at

  him as he writhes on the floor, smiles broadly, and pantomimes that I should get the elevator. "Oh, and

  Nanny,C-a-i-t-l-i-n won't bereturning,butI'm sureyouhavethehangof everything bynow."

  I close their door and am alone again in the now familiar vestibule. I wait for the elevator and listen to

  Grayer scream. I feelasthoughthewholeworldisstickingits tongueoutatme.

  "Keep yournoseoutof it,NannyDrew."Myfatherslurpsthelastdropsof his wontonsoup. "You never

  know. MaybethisCaitlin hadanotherjob linedup."

  "I didn't reallyget thatsense..."

  "You likethekid?"

  "Minusthelocking-me-outpart. eah,okay."

  "So, then, you're not marrying these people. You're just working there. hat?. ifteen hours a week?"

  Thewaiter places aplateof fortunecookiesbetweenusandtakesthecheck.

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  "Twelve." I reachfor a cookie.

  "Right. Sodon't getyourknickersin a twist."

  "ButwhatdoI doaboutGrayer?"

  "They're always a little slow to warm up at first," he says, speaking from eighteen years of experience

  asanEnglishteacher. Hegrabs acookieandtakesmyhand. "Come on,let's walkandtalk.Sophiewon't be able to keep her legs crossed much longer." We weave out of the restaurant and head over to West EndAvenue.

  I putmyarm throughhis asheslipshis handsintohis blazerpockets.

  "Glinda-the-Good-Witchhim," hesays,chewinghis cookiethoughtfully.

 
; "Caretoelaborate?"

  Heshootsme a look."I wasfinishingmycookie.Areyoupayingattention?"

  "Yes."

  "Because this is good stuff." 1 stand, waiting, with my arms crossed. "In essence, you are Glinda. You

  are lightand clarity and fun. He is an inanimateobject, a toaster who happensto have a tonguehanging out. If he goes too far again.'m talking the door-locking routine, physical violence, or anything that putshimindanger. ABOOM!WickedWitchof theWest!Twopointfourseconds. ouswoopdown in front of his face and hiss that he must never do that again. ver. It is not okay. And then, before he canbataneyelash, backtoGlinda.You lethimknowhecanhavefeelings,butthatthereare boundaries.

  And that you'll let him know when he has pushed too far. Trust me, he'll be relieved. Now, wait here while 1get theSophster."

  He disappears into our lobby and I look up between the buildings to the orange sky above. Within minutes Sophie bursts through the front door, pulling the leash in his hand taut as she waggles over, smiling up at me as she always does. I crouch down, wrapping my arms around her neck, and burrow myheadinher brownandwhitefur.

  "I'll walkher,Dad."I give him a hugandtaketheleash. "It'll begoodtobearoundsomeoneunderthree feetwho doesn't talkback."

  "Andwhoonlysticksouther tongueforbiologicalnecessity!" hecalls after me.

  I stand on the sidewalk outside Grayer's school on the following Monday. I'm ten minutes early, as per Mrs. X's strict instructions, so I flip through my Filofax and chart out the deadlines for my next two papers. A taxi comes to a screeching halt on the corner and I look up at the pandemonium of honking cars around it. Across the median a blond woman stands frozen under the shade of an awning. The cars move againandshe's gone.

  I crane my head, trying to locate the woman, to be sure if it was Caitlin. But the other side of Park Avenueisnowempty,savefor a maintenanceman polishing a brass hydrant.

  "Not you!" Grayer draaaaags himself all the way across the courtyard, as if he were marching toward certaindeath.

  "Hey,Grayer. Howwasschool?"

  "Yucky."

  "Yucky?Whatwasyuckyaboutit?" 1 unpinthehomework, pass offthejuice.

  "Nothing."

  "Nothingwasyucky?" Buckleinstroller,unwrappears.

  "I don't wanttotalktoyou."

  I kneel in front of the stroller and look him squarely in the eyes. "Look, Grayer, I know you don't like me verymuch."

  "I HATEYOU!" I am light. I am clarity. I am wearing a big,pinkdress.

  "And that's okay, you haven't known me very long. But I like you a lot." He starts to kick his leg out at me. "I knowyoumissCaitlin." Hefreezesatthesoundof her nameandI catchhis foot

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  firmly in my hand. "It's okay to miss Caitlin. Missing her shows that you love her. But being mean to

  me hurts myfeelings and I knowCaitlin would never want you to hurt anyone's feelings. So, as long as

  we're together,let's havefun."Hiseyes arelikesaucers.

  As we headout of the courtyard the rainthat's been threatening all morning finally breaks and I have to

  pushGrayer backup to721ParkAvenueasif I'm intheStroller Olympics.

  "Weeeeeeee!" he cries and I make race-car noises and steer sharply around puddles all the way home. By the time we get into the lobby we're both soaked and I pray Mrs. X isn't home to see how I've exposedher childtopneumonia.

  "I sure am wet.Areyouwet,Grayer?"

  "I suream. I sure am wet."He's smiling, buthis teetharestartingtochatter.

  "We're gonna get you rightupstairs and into a hot bath. Ever had lunchinthe bath, Grayer?" I steer him

  intotheelevator.

  "Wait! Holdit!" a malevoice shoutsfromaroundthecorner.

  I slamthestrollerintomyankletryingtoangleitawayfromthe door. "Ow,sh. ot!"

  "Hey, thanks," he says. I look up from my ankle. The rain has plastered his brown, chin-length hair and

  frayedblueT-shirt tohis six-foot frame. Oh,my.

  Astheelevator closes hecrouchesdowntospeakdirectly tothestroller. "Hey,Grayer!Whassup?"

  "She's wet."Grayer pointsbehindhim.

  "Hi,wet girl.AreyouGrayer's girlfriend?" Hesmiles atme,tuckinghis damphairbehindhis ear.

  "He's notsureif he's readytomakethatkindof commitment," I say.

  "Well, Grayer,don't lether getaway."If youtriedtocatchme,I promise I wouldrunvery slowly.

  We arrive attheninthfloorwaytoosoon. "Have a greatafternoon,guys," hesaysaswe getout.

  "You, too!" I cry asthedoorslidesclosed.Whoareyou?

  "Grayer,whois he?" Stroller unclasped,wetshirtoff.

  "Helives upstairs. Hegoestobigboy's school."Shoesoff,pantsoff,grablunchbag.

  "Oh,yeah?Whichone?" Follow nakedtushtobathroom, turnontap.

  He thinks for a moment. "Where the boatsgo.With the lighthouse."Okaaay.Two syllables, soundslike

  ...

  "Harbor?" I query.

  "Yeah, he goes to Harbard." Hello, I can totally do Boston, especially with the shuttle. We could

  alternateweekends... Jesus!EARTHTONANNY,COME IN,NANNY.'

  "Okay, Grayer, let's get you in the tub." I heave him over the edge, letting go of my Harvard Hottie for

  themoment. ."Grayer,doyouhave anickname?"

  "What's anickname?"

  "Aname thatpeoplecallyouthatisn't Grayer."

  "Myname isGrayer X. That's myname."

  "Well, let's think of one." 1 pop him in the tub and pass him his organic peanut butter and quince jelly

  sandwich.He wiggleshis toes in thewater ashe munchesthesandwichandI cantell it feelsfabulously unorthodoxtohim. I lookaroundthebathroomandmyeyes landonhis blueSesameStreet toothbrush. "WhataboutGraver?" I ask.

  Hemullsitover,his headcockedtooneside,his SeriousThinkingFaceon,thennods. "We'll tryit." Lord,hawmyheadaches!Whata headhaveI!Myback a t'otherside. h,myback,myback!Beshrew yourheartforsendingmeaboutTo catchmydeathwithjauntingupanddown!

  . HENURSE,ROMEOANDJULIET CHAPTER TWO Multitasking Nanny,

  While you. e on your play date withAlex today, please askAlex. mother who catered her lastdinner?tellherIthought Cajun?infusedAsianwas astrokeofgenius. Justtoletyouknow,theparentsareDIVORCING. Sosad. PleasemakesureGrayerdoesn. sayanythingawkward. I. lswingbyAlex. at4:30 totakeGrayer tohis orthodist. Seeyouthen?

  "Nanny? Nanny?!" Mrs. X's disembodied voice calls out to me as I jog up the block toward the nursery

  schoolcourtyard.

  "Yes?" I say, spinningaround.

  "Thisway."Thedoorof a LincolntowncarpopsopenandMrs. X's manicuredhandflagsmeover.

  "I'm sogladyou're here,"I say, leaningdowntowhereshe's

  seatedamid hershoppingbagsintheplushdarkness. "BecauseI needtoaskyou?

  "Nanny,I justwanttoreiteratethat I'd likeyoutoalways getheretenminutesearly."

  "Of course."

  "Well, it's elevenfifty-five."

  "I'm reallysorry. wastryingtofindGrayer's class list. I'm notsurewhichAlex?

  But she's already busy rooting around in her purse. She pulls a small leather-bound notepad out of her

  hobo bag. "I want to talk with you briefly about a party I'm throwing at the end of the month for the Chicago branch of Mr. X's company." She uncrosses and recrosses her legs, the lavender Prada shoes making an arc of bright color against the dark interior of the town car. "All the top executives will be there. t's a veryimportanteveningandI wantittobeperfectformyhusband."

  "Soundslovely,"I say, unsurewhyI'm beingapprisedof thisfete.

  ShelowershersunglassestomakesurethatI havetakeninevery word.

  ShouldI bringmyformal weartothedry cleaner's?

  "So, I may need you to run a few errands for me this month. It's just that I'm so overwhelmed with the

  preparations and Connie's absolutely no help. So if there's anything I need I'll just leave you a note. t

  reallyshouldn'tbemuch."

  We both hear the heavy clank of the double doors opening behind me followed bythe growing swell of

  children's laughter.

  "I
better run, if he sees me he'll just get all upset. Let's go, Ricardo!" she calls to the driver and he pulls

  outbeforeshe's even gotherdoorclosed.

  "Wait, Mrs. X,I neededtoaskyou a question?I callafter theretreatingtaillights.

  TherearefourAlexandersandthreeAlexandrasinGrayer's class.

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  I know. I checked. And now that Mrs. X has sped off I'm still at a complete loss as to which one is

  supposedtobeourescortfortheafternoon.

  Grayer,however,seems toknowexactlywho ourdateis.

  "It's her. I have a play date with her," he says, pointing across the courtyard at a little girl hunkered

  downover somethingintriguingatgroundlevel. I grabGrayer andmakeourwayover.

  "Hi,Alex. We have aplaydatewith youthisafternoon!" I enthusiastically informher.

  "Myname's Cristabelle.Alexis wearing ashirt,"shesays, pointingover atthirtyshirt-wearingchildren.

  Grayer looksup atmeblankly.

  "Grayer,Mommy saidyouhave a playdatewithAlex,"I say.

  He shrugs. "How about Cristabelle? Cristabelle, want to have a play date?"Apparently, one play date's

  asgoodasanother.

  "Grover, it's not Cristabelle, sweetie. But we can have a play date with Cristabelle another day. Would

  you like that?" The little girl huffs off. At the age of four she seems already to know thatif the date has

  tobepostponedit probablyisn't goingtohappen.

  "Okay,Grayer,think.Didn't yourmomsayanything toyouthismorning?"

  "She saidI havetouse moretoothpaste."

  "Alex Brandi, does that ring any bells?" I ask, trying to rattle off the names I remember from the class

  list.

  "Hepicks his nose."

  "AlexKushman?"

  "She spitsKool-Aid."Hecrackshimself up.

  I sigh, looking out across the crowded courtyard. Somewhere in this chaos is another pair who shares

  our plan. I get a flash of us?airport-reception style. e in a chauffeur's cap, Grayer on my shoulders,

  holding abigsignthatsays "ALEX."

  "Hi, I'm Murnel."An older, uniformed woman appears before us. "This isAlex. Sorry, we had a bit of