The Nanny Diaries

I take a deep breath, slapmycheeks a little, dry myeyes, andtrytocompose myself for Grover. ButI'm

still giggling a bitwhenI walkbackintothekitchentofindMrs. Xstandingover him.

"Nanny, I'd appreciateitifyoudidn't leaveGrayerunattendedwith silverware."

I lookdownatthespoononhis Linnaeusplacemat. "I'm sorry?

"My,you're dressedup."Shepicks a pieceofmelonoffGrayer's plate.

"Thanks,actually it's formythesisdefensewhich startsinthirty-five minutes."I headforthedoor.

"Oh, right. I thought there was something." She saunters over to put her alligator Kelly bag on the

counter. "I made it to the bank this morning. Let's sit down in my office and go over the list you gave

me?Shepulls anenvelopeout.

"Great,thanks,butI reallybetter run,"I sayover myshoulder.

Shestandswith onehandonherhip. "I thoughtthishadtobedonetoday."

"Well, ifI don't go I'll belate,"I callbackfromthefronthallwhereI leftmynotes.

Shesighsloudly,bringingme backintothekitchen.

"Besmart, Nanny!" Grayer craneshis headfromhis boosterseat. "You'll besmart!"

"Thanks,Grove."

"I'm extremely busy and right now is the only convenient time for me to do this. I don't know when I'll beabletositdownwith youagain,Nanny. I went all thewaytothebank?

"Great. No,let's do it. Thankyou." I pull out of mystackof papers a typed, revised list of all thehours I workedinthelastfiveweeks. "So,asyoucansee,itaverages betweenfourandfivehundred aweek."

She looks down at the paper for a few moments while I shift my weight from foot to foot. "This is a little higherthanweoriginally discussed."

"Well, theoriginallistI gaveyouwastwoweeksagoandI've accruedover sixtyhourssincethen."

She sighs and starts counting out twenties and fifties, slowly sliding them back and forth between her fingers to ensure that none of the bills are stuck together. She hands them over, her Hermes limoge banglesclankingtogether."It sureis a lotofmoney."

I smile back at her. "Well, it adds up over five weeks." I turn on my heels, brushing Grayer's head as I pass him. "Have a greatafternoon,guys!"

I slather conditioner into my hair and massage the idea of quitting into my head. I imagine myself, undertheawning infrontof 721 Park,giving Mr. andMrs. X a good,swift cartoonkickthatlandsthem in the meridian shrubbery. Lovely. However, the image becomes much less clear with the addition of Grayer. Grover,inhis big tie,looksup atme expectantlywhile his parentsflail around inthemanicured shrubs. I sigh, pushing my face under the hot water. And then there's the money. I'm nauseated at the thoughtofhaving tomailMs. Chicagonearlyhalf ofwhatMrs. X finallypaidme today.

THE NANNY DIARIES

A little meow breaks my thoughts and I pull the curtain aside to see George, silhouetted in the candlelight, sitting primly beside the tub, waiting for me to splash him. I drop a little water on his head andhedartsbehindthetoiletintoshadow.

At least I have a quiet night to myself to celebrate a successfully defended thesis. And an eleven P.M. phone date with H. H. to look forward to. I wrap the towel around my torso, scoop up my clothes, and blow out the candle. Opening the bathroom door, I freeze at the sound of voices coming from the far endoftheapartment. Myend,tobeprecise.

"Hello?" 1 call out into the bright light. I can always tell when Charlene is home because she turns on every singlelight.

"I'm home," Charlene calls back flatly. Myheart sinks. I pull the towel tight and walk past her screen to my side of the room. My desk lamp shines down on the candle I'd lit before getting in the shower. She standswithHairyPilot measuringmybed.

"It's kind of a mess in here, Nanny," she says, rolling up the tape measure. "Go over there and let's do thatsideoftheroom," sheinstructsHairy,whopushespastme,nearlysteppingonGeorgetostandnear mystereo.

"I hadmythesisdefensetoday,soI've beenatthelibraryevery night." I stepoutofthe way, tuckingmy underwear into a less visible spot in the ball under my arm as she walks with purpose to join her mate. "I'm sorry,canI helpyoutwowithsomething?"

She hands him one end of the tape measure and walks it back to the other wall. "I wanted to see if his

couchwouldfithere." Mystomachtightens.Thisis theantithesis of therelaxingeveningI hadin mind.

She stands straightening her navy skirt. "Nanny, I wanted to talk to you this week, but you never

answeredthephone?

"Myleaseisup.I'm moving inattheendofthemonth,"Hairyvolunteers. Fabulous.

"So that gives you, like, two weeks to find something else. That should be plenty of time," she says,

grabbing a penoffmydresser to

write the measurements on a Post-it. "Julie and her fianceare coming over to play cards in an hour.Are

you cool with that?" She steps past me. "God, it's so steamy back here. Are you taking showers in the

darkagain?That's soweird."Sheshakesherhead.

I regain my composure as Hairy follows her, barely evading George's stealth attack. "I'm just on my

way downtown, actually," I say to the floor. George stands under my chin to receive a drip. I reach for

thephone,hopingJosh'11bepleasedtohearfromme.

The next morning I dig throughevery pocketuntil I find thenapkin on which Josh wrote thereal estate

people's name. I do aquickprayer fortheapartment-deprivedanddialtheofficenumber.

"Hehlow!"A horrendousNewYork accentanswers ontheseventhring.

"Hello,I'm lookingforPat."

"She doesn't workhereanymore."

"Oh.Well, perhapsyoucanhelpme?I'm lookingtorent astudioforJulyfirst."

"Can't helpyou."

"What?"

"Can't help you. It's only the beginning of the month. You want a place for July you showup at the end

ofthemonthwith afistful of cash,sayatleasttwelve thousandtostart,andwe'll tawk."

"Cash?"

"Cash."

"I'm sorry,twelve thousandincash?"

"Cash.Forthelandlord.You've gottacome with thefirstyear's rentincash."

"Theentire firstyear?"

"Andyouhavetobringdocumentationprovingthatyounet,net, mindyou,forty-four times themonth's

rent,andyour guarantors?

THE NANNY DIARIES

"Mywhat?"

"Guarantors. he people who are going to guarantee that the rent gets paid even if you die, typically, your parents. But they must live in the tristate area so their assets can be seized and they have to net at leastonehundredtimes therent."

"Thatseems alittle extreme. I justwant asmall studio,nothing

fancy?

"Oh, my Gawd. This is June! June! Every American under the age of thirty is graduating from

somethingandmoving here."

"But all thatincash?"

"Honey, the Wall Street kids all get relo money from their companies. You want to beat them out you

gotta payupfront."

"Oh,myGod."

Shetakes a deepbreath. "Whatwereyoulookingtospend?"

"I don't know. . . six,sevenhundred."

"A month?" She holds thephone away from her mouth while shecackles. "Honey, do us all a favor and

lookintheVoice for a share."

"ButI don't wanttoshare."

"ThenI wouldgetmyself anapartmentinQueensand acanofpepperspray."

"Well, doyouhaveanylistings inBrooklyn?"

"We don't dotheboroughs."Shehangsup.

Thehairs onthebackof myneckstandupasI hearthedistinct tearof a condomwrapperfromtheother

side of Charlene's screen. Ugh! I throw myself down on the bed, pulling the pillows over my ears.

Forgetquitting, bygraduation I'll bebeggingMrs. Xtoletmemove in.

H. H. gives Grandma another twirl around the dance floor to the strains of the salsa band she has hired fortheeveningfrom her

favorite Mexicanrestaurant. Herapartmentisaglowincolorfulpaperlanterns.

"And he can dance!" she calls out to where my parents and I are sitting on her terrace, her flamenco

skirtswingingasheturnsher.

Momleansintowardme. "He's adorable."

"I know,"I saywith pride.

"Hey, watch it. Father's present," Dad says jokingly from where he sits in the chaise beside us. The

evening is warm and Grandma set the food up out here where my friends mingle with my parents'

friendsaroundthecandlelittables.

"Thatguyover therewants to payme tosculptmyelbows," Sarahsays, coming over with two plates of

cakeandhandingonetomymother.

"Yeah,sure. tstartswith theelbows.. ." Dadwarns'her.

Thesongfinishesand H. H. andGrandmaapplaudtheband.

"Darling!" Grandmacomes outonhis arm. "Didyougetsomecake?"

"Yes, Gran,"I say.

"You." My grandmother snaps her fingers at my reclining dad. "Get out there and give your wife a

twirl." Mom stands, extending her hand in Dad's direction. They shuffle off in step to the music. "How

are my darlings?" Grandma asks as she and H. H. sit down on the chaise. "Has everyone had enough to

eatanddrink?"

"The party is divine, Frances," Sarah thanks her. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to make sure our

friendJoshuaisn't offlosinghis paella."Shedisappearsontothedancefloor.

I leanbacktolookupatthestars. "It's strangetoactuallybefinishedwith school?

"Life isschool,darling," Grandmacorrectsme,takinga forkfulofDad's unfinishedcake.

"ThenI'm inRealEstate101,"I say, pickingup myforktojoin her. "I only havetheweekendafter I get

backfromNantuckettofindanapartmentandget all mystuffout ofChezCharlene."

THE NANNY DIARIES "That's Mrs. Hairytoyou," H. H. interjects. Grandmareachesout herbangledarmtosqueezemyhand. "I'm sosorryyoucan't staywith me,butI've

already rearranged the guest room for Orve's potting wheel." This will be Orve's second summer-in!residence with Grandma. She has a long-held summer tradition of hosting fledgling artists from all parts of the globe. hey teach her technique in exchange for sumptuous room and board. "You'll find something. havefaith."

"So doI,darling," H. H. says, mimicking mygrandmother's ebullienttone. ShewinksathimasshestandsandI notice a glint ofblueather throat. "New necklace, Grandma? It's charming." "Isn't it? I was in Bendel's last week and there were these

little blue lacquer letters." She fingers the tiny 5 and SL hanging on the gold chain around her neck. "Theywere all bythemselves inthedisplaycase,therestofthealphabetmust havesold.I justhadsuch a good laugh, get it? FQ, say it real fast." She laughs deeply as she merenguesher way back inside and, forthefirst timesincethis afternoon's ceremony,I am alonewith H. H.

"Come on," he says softly, taking my hand and leading me over to the stone balustrade overlooking the park. "I think your family rocks." "Believe it or not, I can't complain," I say, placing my arms around himaswe lookoutacross thecity.

"I'm going to miss you so much," he says, giving me a squeeze. "Sure you are. While you're off in Amsterdamwith all thepornstars,smokingthepot?

"It's The Hague.A full twenty minutes from all that. No porn stars. No pot. Just me, missing you, and a wholelotofpolitical prisoners with grievances."

I turn my head and reach up on my tiptoes to kiss him. "Those political prisoners, whine, whine, whine,"I murmur.

Hekissesthetopofmynoseandthenmyforehead. "Andwhat

aboutyou?Stuckatthebeachwith all thoselifeguards,poolboys, cabanaboys?

"Oh, my god. I'm not going to the Riviera.'m going to stinky little Nantucket." I smack my hand on topoftherailing. "Shit. I forgottocheckmymessages!"

Herollshis eyes. "Nan?

"Wait, wait,wait. t'll only takeme twominutes. I justhavetocallmymachineandfindoutwhattime they're pickingmeupfromtheferrytomorrow. Don't move, I'll berightback!"

I go into Grandma's bedroom to use the salmon-pink Princess phone on the night table, moving aside a few of her needlepoint pillows to sit on the sateen bedspread.As I punch the answering-machine code into the keypad the soft light of the room reminds me of sleep-overs from my childhood when she wouldleavethelampsonuntil I fellasleep.

Mrs. X's voice comes through like ice cubes dropped down the back of my dress. "Oh, Nanny, good news. ur friends the Horners are flying up tomorrow at nine and have graciously offered to let you come along. So you'll be in Nantucket by nine-thirty in the morning. Now, Nanny, these are very dear friends of ours so I'm counting on you to be timely about this. Plan to meet them at the Westch-ester CountyAirportintheprivate-plane departurearea.You'll needtotaketheseven-fiftyMetro-North train to Rye and a taxi or something to get out to the airport. They have three girls, so they should be easy to spot. Now, they're doing this as a favor, so you really can't be late.Actually, you might want to plan to beatGrandCentralStationbysix-fiftyjusttogive yourself time? Beep.

"Your machinecut me off. I'll needyou to stop by while you're out and about and pick up an article I've leftwith James for youon Lyme disease. Horrible.Also, I'll needyouto find deer-tick repellentsuitable for afour-year-oldandmakesureit's hypoallergenic,soitwon't irritatehis skin.AndI wouldappreciate itifyoucouldgoto

THE NANNY DIARIES

Polo andpick up six pairs of knee-high cotton socks,white. Takeone of Grayer's shoeswith you soyou get the right size. I've left a pair with James so you can get them when you pick up the article and then juststickit all inyour carry-on. Perfect. Seeyoutomorrow!"

Beep.

"Nanny."I havetrouble placing the voice at first. "As per myletter of instructions, I'll be arriving atthe apartment tomorrow. I trust you had no trouble finding the foie gras. Have a good time in Nantucket andpleasesayhellotoGrayerforme."

AH right. 1 grew up and then became a governess. [Pause] I'd really tike to start a conversation, but

there's noonetostart aconversation with ... I don't haveanybodyatall.

. HEANDRYEEV1CHFAMILY GOVERNESS,THECHERRYORCHARD.

CHAPTER TEN

AndWe GaveHeranAll*-expenses^paidVa cation

"Good-bye!" the Horners shout from their car as it pulls out of the Nantucket Airport parking lot,

leavingmealonebythesideofthetarmac.

I sit down on my duffel bag and fight the urge not to throw up as only someone can who's just flown twenty-five minutes on a six-seater plane through torrential downpours, unrelenting fog, and massive turbulence with four adults, three children, a goldfish, a guinea pig, and a golden retriever. Only my considerationfortheHornergirls preventedmefromscreamingatevery drop.

I pullmysweatshirt closer aroundmeagainstthesaltywindandwait.

Andwait.

Andwait.

Oh,no,that's okay,that'sfiiine. No,I wasn't outlateatmygraduationparty. No,youtakeyourtime.'ll

just sit here in the cold drizzle. No, I think what's important is that I'm here, in Nantucket, and that you and your family can rest easy just knowing I am somewhere within a ten-mile vicinity of you. I think what's important,

THE NANNY DIARIES

you know, paramount really, is that I'm not off living my life, attending to whatever I need to be doing,

but am permanently onpauseforyouandyourfuckingfamily?

TheRover pulls inandbarelyslowsto aroll astheymotionfor

me tojumpin.

"Nanny!" Grayer screams. "I got a Kokichu!" He holds up a yellow Japanese toy as I open the door.

Thereis averylargecanoeprecariouslyangledinthetrunksothatitsticksoutover halftheback

passengerseat.

"Nanny,becarefuloftheboat. It's anantique,"Mrs. Xsays

proudly.

I maneuver myself under the canoe, pull my bag between my feet, crouch low, and reach around to pat

Grayer's legingreeting. "Hey,Grove,I missedya."

"Theantiquinghereiswonderful. I'm hopingtofind anewcouchtableforthesecondguestbedroom."

"Dreambig,honey," Mr. X grumbles underhis breath.

Ignoringhim,shelooksupatme inhervisor mirror. "So,whatwastheplanelikeinside?"

"Urn,ithadbrown leatherseats?I say, myheadwedgedinto

mychest.

"Didtheyserveyouanything?"

"TheyaskedifI wantedpeanuts."

"You're so lucky. Jack Horner designs fabulous shoes. I absolutely adore Caroline. I worked on a

benefit last year for her brother's campaign. It's such a shame they live in Westchester or we'd just be

the best of friends." She checks her teeth in the mirror. "Now, I want to go over the plan for the

afternoon.It turnsout thePiersonbarbecueis formal, so I thoughtit'd beniceforyou guys to justenjoy

somedowntimeatthehouse. Relaxandenjoytheplace."

"Great. That sounds like fun." I attempt to look over at Grover in his car seat with visions of us passed

outinmatchingchaises onthelawn.

"Now, Caroline was supposed to call about dinner, so just give her my cell number when she rings. I've

tackedit up next tothe phonein the kitchen."Thanks,becauseit usually takes me about nine and a half

monthstomemorize aten-digit number.

We pull off the main road onto a densely wooded drive and I'm surprised to see that quite a few of the

treesarestill bare.

"They've had a cold spring."Mrs. X readsmythoughts. Thedrive opensinto a loopinfrontofwhatcan

only be described as a sprawling, ramshackle 1950s bungalow. The white paint is peeling, the screen

doorhas aholeinit,and apieceofroofingdangles at a precariousanglefromthegutter.

"Well, we're here. CasaCrap," Mr. Xsays,steppingdownfromthecar.

"Darling, I thought we agreed? She gets out and chases after him, leaving me to unbuckle Grayer and

get my bag out of the back. I hold what's left of the screen door open for Grayer, although he probably

couldjustcrawlthrough.

"Honey,it's notmyfaulttherealtor's photographswereoutdated."

"I'm justsayingthatforfivethousanddollars a week,maybe youcouldhavedone abit moreresearch."

Mrs. X turnstous, beaming. "Grayer,whydon't youshowNannyherroom?"

"Come on, Nanny, it's reallyreally cool!" I follow him up the stairs to a little room at the end of the

hallway. Thereare twotwin beds closetogether underthesharplyslanted lowceilingand Grayer's stuff is on one of them. "Isn't this cool, Nanny? We get to have a sleep-over every night!" He sits, bouncing on his bed. I stoop, careful not to bump my head, to fish a warm sweater and jeans out of my bag, as it wasactuallysummer backinNewYork andI optimistically woreshorts.

"Okay, G. I'm justgoingtochange." "AmI goingtoseeyounaked?"

"No, I'll gointhebathroom. Wait here.Where's thebathroom?"

THE NANNY DIARIES

"There!" Hepointstothedooracross thehall.

I push it open. "AAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!" And am confronted by a red-haired little girl,

shriekingonthetoilet. "Thisismyprivacy!"

"Sorry!" I slamthedoorclosed.

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

"That's CarsonSpender. She's stayingtheweekend."

"O-kay." Just then I hear a car pull up the gravel drive. I go over to the window and watch Mr. X direct

a Range Rover around to the side of the house. 1 walk down the hall to the dingy clerestory window

facingthe oceanand see the car pull in next to four others parked by the overgrown hedge.There are at

leasttenchildrenonthebacklawn.

"Grover?" I call, and he comes thumping down the hall. I heave him up so he can see out the window.

"Whoarethosekids?"

"I dunno. They're just kids." I kiss him on the top of his head and put him down as the bathroom door

opens. Carsonshootsme a dirty lookbeforemarchingdownstairs.

"G,whydon't youheaddownand I'll changequickly?"

"I wanttostaywith you,"hesays, followingme backintoour room.

"Okay,youcanstandoutsidethedoor."I trytocloseit.

"Nanny,youknowI don't likethat." I pullitback,soit's barely cracked,andpulloffmyshorts. "Nanny?

Canyouhearme?"

"Yes, Grove."Hestickshislittle fingersunderthedoor.

"Nanny, try to catch my fingers! Come on, catch "em!" I look down for a moment, then kneel and

gentlyticklethetipsofhis fingerswith myown.Hegigglesatmytouch.

"You know, Grove," I say, recalling that first week when he locked me out. "I got tnye thung thitikin

outta,too,andyoucan't seeit."

"Noyoudon't, silly."

"HowdoyouknowI don't?"

"You'd never,Nanny. Hurryup, I'll showyouthepool. It's reallyreallyfreezing!"

Out back are men in summer suits, and women shivering in lawn dresses, all standinglike traffic cones

aschildrenwhiz chaotically aroundthem.

"Mommy! Shetookmyprivacy!" I canhearCarsonpointingme outtohermather.

"Oh, Nanny, there you are," Mrs. X says. "We should all be beack around six. There's plenty of stuff in

thefridgeforlunch.Havefun!"

A chorus of "Have a greattime, guys!" erupts aroundus astheadults headover to theircars, which take

off,carseatsempty.

I look down at twelve expectant faces, as visions of an afternoon on the chaises quickly disappears.

"Okay, guys, I'm Nanny. I have a few ground rules. NOBODY goes near the pool. Is that clear? I don't

want to seeanybody going past thattree over there or you will sit in the broom closet for the rest of the

afternoon.Gotit?"Twelve headsnodsolemnly.

"Butwhatiftherewas a warandtheonlyplacetogoforsafetywasbythepooland?

"What's yourname?" I askthefreckledbrunetwith glasses.

"Ronald."

"Ronald, no more silly questions. If there's a war we go to the shed. Okay, everyone, go play!" I run

inside, looking out every window I pass to make sure no one is even creeping toward the pool, to find

Grayer's artkit.

I set up crayons, construction paper, and scotch tape on the patio table. "Okay, listen up! I want you all

tocomeover here,oneat atime, andtellme yourname."

"Arden," asmall girlinOshKoshB'Goshtellsme.

I write "ARDEN" and a big "1" on her impromptu name tag and then tape it to her shirt. "Okay,Arden,

you're one. Everytime I callout 'Headcount!'youshout 'One!'Gotthat?All youhaveto

THE NANNY DIARIES

remember is 'one.'" She climbs up into mylap and becomes myassistant, passing me the tapeand pens,

alternately.

For an hour everyone runs around on the grass, some play with Grayer's toys, others just chase each

other,while I look out atthefog-covered ocean.Every fifteenminutes I call out "HEADCOUNT!" and

theysoundoff.

"One!"

"Two!"

"Three!"

Silence. 1 tensetorundowntothepool.

"Jessy,you're four,dummy."

"Four!" a small voice squeaks.

"Five!"

"Six!"

"Seven!"

"Grayer!"

"Nine!"

"Ten!"

"Eleven!"

"Twelve!"

"Okay, time for lunch!" I survey the troops. I am wary about leaving them outside while I inspect the

supplies. "Everyone inside!"

"Awww!"

"Come on,we canplayoutsideafter lunch."I slidethewobbling

glass doorclosedafter number 12.

"Nanny,what's forlunch?I'm reallyreally hungry,"Grayer asks.

"1 dunno. Let's go take a look." Grayer follows me into the kitchen, leaving 7,9, and 3, who are turning

thelivingroomcouch

into afort.

I pull open the fridge. "Okay, let's see what we've got!" Umm, three fat-free yogurts, a box of

SnackWell's, aloafof fat-freesourdough,mustard,brie,localjam,and a zucchini.

255

"Okay, troops! Listen up!" Eleven hungry faces look up at me from their various tasks in the group

mission to destroy the living room. "Here are the choices: we have jam sandwiches, but you may not

like the bread. Or we have brie sandwiches, but you may not like the cheese. Or we have Cheerios, but

no sugar to sprinkle on top. So, I would like you to come in the kitchen one at a time to taste the bread

andthecheeseandseewhichoneyouwant."

"I wantpeanutbutterandjelly!" Ronaldshouts.

I turn around and shoot him a quick Look of Death. "This is war, Ronald. And in war you get the

supplies your commanding officer sends you." I salute him. "So let's all be good soldiers and eat the cheese." I'm making the last sandwich when the first raindrops fall, blanketing the sliding doors with a thick

sheetofwater.

"Bye, Carson!" Grayer andI call outastheSpendersbegintopullout ofthedriveway Sundaynight.

"Bye, Grayer!" she calls back from her car seatand then puts her right thumb up to her nose and waves her fingers at me. Despite my best efforts all weekend I was evidently never able to work my way back intohergoodgracesafter "taking"herprivacy.

"Grayer, are you ready?" Mrs. X comes outside in a green and cream silk coat, Prada's signature look thisspring,puttinginher rightpearlearring.

"Mommy,canI bringmyKokichu?" heasks.

We've beeninvited over for a "casualSundaysupper" attheHomers' andGrayer feels he needs tocome

equippedwith somethingtoshare,sinceEllie,their four-year-old,has a guineapig.

"I supposethat'll be okay. Whydon't we leave it in the car when we get there and then I'll let you know ifit's okaytobringitout?Nanny,whydon't yourunupstairs andchange?"

THE NANNY DIARIES

"I am changed," I say, glancing down to confirm that I am still wearing clean chinos and a white

turtlenecksweater.

"Oh.Well, I supposeit's okay.You'll probablybeoutsidewith thechildrenmost of thetime, anyway."

"Okay, everybody in thecar!" Mr. X comes by, swooping Grayer up, and carries him, sack-of-potatoes!style, outside.

As soon as we get in the car Mr. X plugs his cell phone into the dashboard and starts dictating

instructions to Justine's voice mail. The rest of us sit quietly, Grayer clutching his Kokichu, me balled

upunderthecanoestaringatmybellybutton.

As Mr. X unplugs his cell phone he sighs. "This is a really bad week for me to be away from the office.

It's terribletiming."

"ButyousaidthebeginningofJunewasgoingtobequiet?shesays.

"Well, I'm justwarningyou I'll probablyhavetogobackonThursdayfor ameeting."

Sheswallows. "Well,whenwill youbeback?"

"I'm not sure. It looks like I'll probably have to stay over the weekend to entertain the execs from

Chicago."

"I thoughtyourworkwith theChicagoofficewasdone,"shesays tightly.

"It's not that simple. Now there's the issue of layoffs, merging divisions. eorging and making this

thingrun."

Shedoesn't reply.

"Besides,I witt havebeenhere awhole week,"hesays,makinga

leftturn.

"Whyareyouturningawayfromthewater?" sheasks edgily.

We have trouble finding the house because, according to the instructions, it's on the inland side of the

mainroad.

"I just can't believe they wouldn't have an oceanview," Mrs. X says, as she forces us to round the same

trafficcircle forthethirdtime. "Give me backtheinstructions."

Heballsup thepieceofpaperandthrowsitather withouttak!

ing his eyes off the road. She smooths it out methodically on her knee. "You must have copied them

downbackward."

"Let's becrazyandjustfollowthefuckingdirections andseewherewe endup," hehisses.

"I'm starving.I'm gonnadieifI don't eat," Grayermoans.

Dusk is falling when we finally pull into the Homers' shingled, three-story house. Ferdie, their golden

retriever, is sleeping peacefully on the wraparound porch under the hammock and the crickets chirp

loudlyingreeting.JackHornerpushesthescreendoor open,wearing fadedjeansandBirkenstocks.

"Takeoffyourtie!Quick!" Mrs. Xwhispers.

"Parkanywhere!" heshoutswith a broadsmilefromtheporch.

Mr. X isdivestedofhis blazer,tie,andcufflinks beforewe canget outofthecar.

I stretchout my cramped back as I walk aroundto thetrunk.I fish the rhubarbpie Mrs. X boughtat the

supermarket this morning out of the cooler. "Here, I'll take that," she says, walking off after Mr. X,

who's holding a bottle of wine, and followed by Grayer, holding his Kokichu in front of him, like the

threewise men.

"Jack!"Themenshakehandsandclapeachotherontheback.

Elliepeeksaroundthe door. "Mom!They're here!"

Jack ushers us into the cozy living room, where one wall is completely covered in the children's art and

a macaronisculpturesitsonthecoffeetable.

Carolinecomes outofthekitchenwearingjeansand awhiteblouse, wipingherhandsonher apron. "Hi!

I'm sorry,don't shakemy hands. was just marinating the steaks." Ellie attaches herself to Caroline's

leg. "Didyouguys haveanytroublefindingtheplace?"

"Not atall, yourdirections wereperfect,"Mrs. Xquicklyresponds. "Here."Shehandsoffthepiebox.

"Oh, thank you. Hey, Elle, whydon't you showGrayer your room?" She bumps the girl gently with her

hip.

THE NANNY DIARIES

"Wanna see my Kokichu?" He takes a step forward, proffering the fluffy ball. She looks down at the

yellow furandrunsoff,Grayer's cuetofollow,andtheyscamperupstairs.

"Nanny,whydon't yougowatch thekids?" Mrs. Xsays tome.

"Oh, they're fine. I took away Elite's Ginsu knives, so Grayer should be safe," Caroline says, laughing.

"Nanny,wouldyoulikesomewine?"

"Yes, drinks.What's your pleasure?" Jackasks.

"DoyouhaveanyScotch?" Mr. X asks.

"Winewouldbegreat," Mrs. Xsays,smiling.

"Red?White?"

"Whatever you're having,"Mrs. Xsays. "Where aretheother girls?"

"Setting the table. Would you excuse me? I'm just going to finish getting dinner together," Caroline

says.

"Wouldyoulikeanyhelp?" I ask.

"Actually,that'dbegreat,if youdon't mind."

Jack and Mr. X go outside to do manly things with the barbecue, while we follow Caroline into the

kitchen, where Lulu and Katie, ages eightand six, are sitting at thetable, rolling up napkins and putting

theminrings.

"Nanny!" They leap up as soon as I come in, throwing their arms around me, much to Mrs. X's chagrin.

I pickup Katieandquicklydipher backward,holdingontoherlegs,thengive Luluherturn.

"Wouldyoumindtossingthesalad?" Carolinehandsoffthebowland aMasonjarfull of dressing.

"Not atall."AsI startflippingthelettuceI noticethesweet aroma of apie baking.

"WhatcanI do?" Mrs. Xasks.

"Oh,nothing.I wouldn't wantyoutoruinyourbeautifulcoat."

"Honey?"We hearJackcalling fromthebackyard.

"Lu, wouldyourunoutsideandseewhatDadwants?"Thelittlegirl comes runningback a secondlater.

"Hesays thegrill's ready."

"Okay,will youcarrythesteaksouttohim,butbecarefulor we're all having grilledcheesefordinner."

Lulupicks upthemetaltrayandwalksslowlytothedoor,star-ingintentlyatthepileofmeat.

"Wherearethekidseating?" Mrs. X askscasually.

"With us."

"Oh,ofcourse,"shesays,covering.

"I wantedtoask you afavor," Carolinesays, circlingtheislandtoputherhandonMrs. X's arm.

"Of course,anything."

"I have a friend from college coming out next week. She's getting divorced and moving back to New

York fromL.A. andI wonderifyouwouldn't mindtakingherunderyourwing abit." ,

"Not atall?

"It's just thatbeing up inWestchester I can't do as much to introduce her around as I'd like.Also, if you

know a goodrealestateagent,she's lookingfor a place."

"Well, there's athree-bedroominourbuildingthat's onthemarket."

"Thanks,butshe's lookingfor astudio.It's a horriblesituation?eventhoughher ex-husbandwastheone

c-h-e-a-t-i-n-g, none of the assets were in his name. He's incorporated or some crap, and she's gotten

nothing."

Mrs. X's eyes widen. "That'sterrible."

"So anythingyoucandotohelp, I'd reallyappreciate. I'll callyouwhenshegets here."

When we all get to the table, I'm charmed to see that the girls have made place cards by taking leaves

and writing our names on them in silver pen in three markedly different handwritings. Katie and Lulu

have asked to have me seated between them, while Mrs. X is placed between Grayer and Ellie and

spendsmuchofthemealcutting meatandansweringEllie's questionsabouther coat.

THE NANNY DIARIES

Ferdie comes over andstartswhimpering forscrapsatJack's feet.

"We had aretriever whenI was aboy," Mr. Xsays, spooningmustardontohis secondsteak.

"Ferdie's a local, actually," Caroline says. "One of the top breeders lives just down the road, if you're

thinkingofgetting a puppy?

"Thisis sucha fabuloushouse,"Mrs. Xsays, changingthesubjectassheplays with hersalad.

"It wasbuiltbyCaroline's grandfather," Jacksays.

"With hisown twohands,nonails, inthedriving rain,ifyoubelieve him,"shelaughs.

"You should see the overpriced beach shack mywife picked out. We'll be luckyif the roof doesn't blow

off," Mr. Xlaughs,corninhis teeth.

"So,Nanny,whereareyouinschool?"Jackturnstome.

"NYU. justgraduatedonFriday,actually."

"Congratulations!" Hesmiles atme, while buttering another ear of corn for Lulu. "So,haveyou figured

outyourplans fornextyear?"

"You're such a dad." Caroline laughs at him across the table. "You don't have to answer that, Nanny." Shestandsup. "Whowantspie?"

"ME!ME!" thelittleHornersandGrayer all shout.

As soon as the door swings behind her I stand to clear, but Jack stops me. "Come on," he mock--

whispers. "She's gone.Whatareyour plans?"

"I'm going to be the program associate of a children's organization in Brooklyn," I tell him in a stage

whisper.

"Honey!" heshouts. "It's okay! Shehas a plan!"

Carolinecomes backin,smiling, with a cartonoficecreamandninebowls.

"Jack,you're hopeless."Sheputsdownthecartonandthebowls. "Lulu,will youtakecoffeeorders?"

A gracious hostess, Carolineserves both pies, but there's little demand for thecold oneinthealuminum

dish.

"Mommy, I want a guinea pig," Grayer says sleepily from his car seat. He's out almost immediately and

theXesbeginrehashingtheevening, asI trytofind acomfortable waytoslumpbeneaththecanoe.

"Hewastellingme bythebarbecuethathe's managedtoexpandintotwelve newmarketsthis year? Mr.

Xis impressedwithJack's businessacumen.

"You know". heturns slightlytoward him, putting herhandonhis arm?I wasthinkingI couldgoback

with youonThursday. ecouldhave a romanticweekendinthecity."

He pulls his arm away as he makes a left turn. "I told you, it'll just be a lot of client entertaining. You'd

beboredoutof yourmind."Heplugsinhis cellphoneanddials withhis freehand.

Shepulls her Filofaxout andflipsthroughtheempty pages. "Nanny,one thingI wouldliketomention? shecalls backreprovingly.

"Yes," I say, startingtonodoff.

"I'm not sure if it's appropriate for you to monopolize the dinner conversation. Just something I'd like

youtobe alittle moreawareof fromnowon."

Darling, I. e gone over to the Sterns?for tea. I. l be back by five. Just a thought ?if you have to

go, why not see if you can come back to the island early Sunday morning, becauseh the Horners have

invitedusover forbrunch.

Have a greatmatch!

Love you.

~~~

Ihopeyourgolfgamewentwell. Incaseyou. e worried if I. l be lonely Caronlinehas offered to

keepmecompanywhile you. egone,sodon. worryaboutme. Althoughthey. equitebusy,but

I. sureother peoplewill thinkofme.

Seeyouattheclubatsix. Love you.

~~~

Darling,I didn. wanttowakeyoufromyournap?I. goingintotown.

I called the rental agent and she said that it. really pretty safe out here. She said she. be surprised if anything happened to Grayer or me while we. e here all by ourselves, so please don. spendyourtime inthecity worrying aboutus all thewayuphere.

~~~

Wednesday night, on the eve of Mr. X's departure, the three of us sit waiting in the Rover for Mrs. X. The original plan was to leave Grayer and myself home for the evening "to relax," while they had dinner at II Cognilio with the Longacres. But when they came home to change, Grayer screamed hysterically until Mr. X insistedthattheybringhimalong,sohewould,quote, "shutup."

After five straight days of running a virtual day-care center for all of the Xes' friends on at most five hoursof sleep anight,I starttonodoffassoonasI slumpdownunderthecanoe.

Mr. X jerks the cell phone away from his head. "We're going to lose the reservation. o see what's

takingher solong."I openthecardoorjustasMrs. Xteetersoutontothegravel onuncharacteris!

tically high heels, clad in a strapless black dress with a red cashmere wrap around her shivering

shoulders. Mr. Xbarelyglances atherbeforestartingthecar.

"Honey, what time do you want me to drive you to the airport tomorrow?" she asks, pulling on her seat

belt.

"Don't bother.'m takingthesixA.M. flight. I'll justcall acab."

"I wanttoflywithDaddy."Grayer,hungryand,ofcourse, napless,beginstosquirminhis carseat.

"Mrs. X?Um, you didn't get a chanceto see if you broughtanymosquito bite stuff,did you?" myvoice

echoesfrombeneaththecanoe.

"No,areyoustill beingbitten?I justdon't understand it. Noneof ushas anybites."

"Doyouthinkitmightbepossibleformetoruninto a drugstoreandgrabsomeAfterBite?"

"I reallydon't thinkwe havetime."Sheretouchesher lipstickintheyellowlightofthevisormirror.

I give my leg a good going-over through my pants. I am on fire. The itch is so bad it's keeping me

awakeonthealternatehours Grayeror Mr. X isn't snoring.I just.Wanttogo.To adrugstore.

After a tensetwenty-minutedrive we pullinto theparkinglot/ gift shopof thefamous restaurantwhose

annual signature T-shirt, featuring a rabbit in silhouette, is a bizarre, nationwide status symbol. Of courseI wantone. Mrs. X ushers us into the restaurant, a glorified bait-and-tackle shop that serves up twenty-five-dollar bowls ofpasta onsplinteredtables.

"Darling, how are you?" Mrs. X is accosted by a woman with large, blond hair that looks as if it could stand up to the fiercest Nan-tucket wind. "You're so dressy, my God, I feel like a bumpkin." She pulls herAquaScutumbarnjacketcloser aroundher.

Themen shakehandsandMrs. XintroducesGrayer. "Grayer,youremember Mrs. Longacre?"

THE NANNY DIARIES

Mrs. Longacre absentmindedly pats his head. "He's getting so big. Honey, let's get our table." We are shown to a drafty corner table and handed a green booster seat, which Grayer tries to squeeze himself into.

"Mrs. X,I thinkit's toosmall."

"Nonsense."She looks over at him sitting sideways, strainingto fit his whole tushyin the seat. "Go see iftheyhave a phonebook."

I finally unearth three filthy Nantucket directories and slip them under his derriere, while the adults order cocktails. I pull crayons out of my bag and start telling Grayer a story, illustrating on the paper tableclothasI go.

"Well, of course, I love it up here, but I don't know how I'd do it without my fax," Mrs. Longacre says. "I don't know how people went anywhere before the fax and the cell phone, I really don't. I'm putting together a small dinner for a hundred people for the week we get back. You know, I planned Shelly's entire weddingfromherelastsummer."

"I know, I wish I'd thought of bringing ours from home," Mrs. X says, adjusting the wrap around her naked shoulders. "I'm waiting to hear from the board if they're letting me buy one of the studios on the secondfloor."

"Your buildinghasstudios?"

"Well, they were all maids' quarters originally and most are owned by people who have larger apartments in the building. I'd love to have someplace for a little private time, you know? I'm just so torn when Grayer's home. I want to be with him, but sometimes I need to get things done for my committee work."

"Oh, honey, cheers to that! Our eldest daughter just did the same thing. he has two kids and needed someplacewhereshecoulddoherown thing,butstill becloseenoughtobeinvolved. I thinkit's agreat idea."

The waitress comes over with the six drinks on a tray just as a small child goes whizzing by her at knee height,nearlyknockingthreehighballsontoMrs. X's head.

"Aaaan-drew... CometoMommmyyy."We hear aplaintive

voice whineasthehumantumbleweedfliesundertablesandbetweendiners.

Themattre d'lookspleadinglyattheoblivious parents,willing themtodisciplinetheirchild.

"Oh,honey,isn't thattheCliftons?" Mrs. Xexcusesherselftogoover andkiss cheeks.

"Nanny,drawme a chicken,"Grayer asks,while themen comparethisweek's golfscores.

"Isn't that great?" she says, sitting back down. "They're here with their son, so I toldAnne that Nanny

would take everyone out to the parking lot until the food comes." Everyone?Am I to lead Mrs. Clifton

in arousingrenditionof "Michael,RowYour BoatAshore" bytheDumpster?

I pull myself out of my seat and take Grayer and the whirling dervish out into the cold, dark, sandy

parking lot to play. They climb up and down a piece of oiled driftwood a few times and then Andrew

suggestsmakingdirt angels.

"Yeah, no. How about we wash hands before the food comes?" I try to steer them back inside toward

theladies'room.

"No!"Andrewshouts. "I'm a boy. I'm notusingsomegirl's toilet. Noway."

Mr. Cliftonroundsthecorner tothebathrooms. "I'll takethem," hesays tome, leadingtheboys intothe

bathroomandleavingme toenjoy a wholetwominutesintheladies'roombymyself.

I've just latched the door on the stall when I hear Mrs. X and Mrs. Longacre come in. Mrs. Longacre is

agreeing about something. "Absolutely! You can never be too cautious these days. Do you know Gina

Zuckerman? She has a boy about Grayer's age. arwin, I think. Apparently the woman they had

watching him, some South American, grabbed him by the arm. Gina caught it all on the Nan-nycam.

Sentthatwomanrightbacktowhateverthirdworldvillage shecrawledout of."

I trynottobreatheasMrs. Longacrepeesbesideme.

THE NANNY DIARIES

"We just set up our Nannycam a few weeks ago," Mrs. X says. "I haven't had time to review the tapes,

butitgives mepeaceof mindknowingI'm abletobevirtually righttherewith myson."

Shutup.Shutup!

"Don't youhavetogo?" Mrs. Longacreasks, comingoutof thestall.

"No,I'm justwashing myhands,"Mrs. Xsays fromthesink.

Grayer poundsonthebathroom door. "Nanny!"

Mrs. X opens the door. "Wha. rayer? What are you doing here?" I hear her leave and wait for Mrs.

Longacretofinishwashingher handsbeforeI unlatchthestall.

NANNYCAM?! NANNYCAM???.'.'.' What's next? Periodic drug tests? Strip searches? A metal

detectorintheirfronthall?Whoarethesepeople?

I splash my face with cold water and try, for the umpteenth time in nine months, to put my six-foot

employers outof mymindsoI canfocusontheneedsof thethree-footone.

I walk back to the table. Mrs. X is struggling to balance Grayer on the phone books. She looks up,

openly glaring at me. "Nanny, where have you been? I found Grayer unattended and I think it's

unacceptable?

An unprecedented level of rage shows on my face, momentarily silencing her. I readjust Grayer on his

phonebooks,cutup hischickenforhim, andtake aforkfulof mashedpotatoes.

"Well, then,Nanny,whydon't youtakethekids outsidetillwe're done?" sheasks sweetly.

And I spend the rest of the meal in the damp wind, feeding Grayer sandy chicken out of a Styrofoam

container. Pretty soon Andrew joins us, then three more. I play Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes. I

playMotherMay1.1playRedLight,GreenLight.

But there is only so much you can do with five children in a dark parking lot before you want to sell

them.

After putting Grayer to bed I ransack the kitchen for ammonia. While searching under the sink, I hear

the tap of Mrs. X's Manolos on the linoleum as she opens the cabinets above. She maneuvers

awkwardly aroundmeinsilence.

"Whatare youdoingunderthere?" Mr. Xcomes in,holdingthepaper.

"I'm looking for ammonia to take the sting out of my mosquito bites," I say, my head tucked between

thepipesand a bottleofbleachasI huntforthisemergencyGirl Scoutsolution.

"And I'm looking for the Scotch, so I can fix you a nightcap." Her feet swivel so she can face him and

herwrapslidesslowlytothefloor,landingin a scarlet-red heapbesideher goose-pimpled ankles.

"Ammonia?" heasks. "Huh."

Hisheavyfootstepsmove fromthelinoleumofthekitchentothewoodofthehallway.

"Honey?" shesays in a slightlyhusky toneas shefollows him to thedoor frame. "Whydon't we read in

bed?"

I heartherustleofhimhandingthepaperover to her. "I've gottoconfirmmyflightouttomorrow. I'll be

inwhenI'm done. Don'twait up.Good-bye, Nanny."I seeMrs. X's calfmusclesclench.

"Bye, have agoodflight," I say. GiveMs. Cmyregards.

I hearher followhim downthehall, leavingme alonetorummage underevery sinkinthehouse,but all

I findis a lotof Mr. CleanandsomePine-Sol.

An hour later,when I turn out the bathroomlight, I see Mr. X slowly pushing their bedroomdoor open,

a shaftoflightilluminatingthehallway.

"Darling,"I hearhersayquietly.Thedoorslidesclosed.

THE NANNY DIARIES

"Daddy,you're here!" Grayerjumps upinfrontofSesameStreetwhen Mr. X entersthelivingroomlate

thenextmorning.

"Hi,"I say, startled. "I thoughtyouwere?

"Hey,sport."Hecomes over tositonthecouch.

"Where's Mommy?" Grayer asks.

"Mommy's intheshower."His fathergrins. "Haveyouhadbreakfast?"

"I wantcereal,"hesays, skippingincircles aroundthecouch.

"Well, let's rustle you up some food. I could go for eggs and sausage."It isThursday, right? It's not still

Wednesday? Because I already scratched Wednesdayoff on the little calendar I've carved into the wall

bymybed.

Mrs. X saunters in wearing a bikini top, sarong, and miles of exposed gooseflesh. She's flushed and has

theauraofvictory abouther.

"Morning, Grayer. Morning, you." She languorously comes up behind Mr. X, putting her hands on his shoulders and giving him a little massage. "Darling, would you mind going to pick up the paper?" He rollshis headbacktolookupather andshegrins, leaningdowntogive him a kiss.

"Sure." He comes around the couch, brushing his lips over her shoulder as he passes. Well, I've

officiallyfoundtheonlyscenariomore uncomfortablethanbeingaroundwhentheyfight. "Wouldyoumind if I wentwith Mr. X to thestore to get someAfter Bite?" I ask, trying tocapitalize on herpostcoital glow.

"No. I'd rather you stayed here to watch Grayer while I get ready." Mr. X grabs the keys from the table by the door and heads out. As we hear the car start she asks, "Grayer, how'd you like a baby brother or sister?"

"I want a baby brother! I want a baby brother!" He runs over to her, but she spatulas him and rebounds

himbacktome,like a fieldhockeyball.

The phone begins to ring as Mr. X pulls out of the driveway. Mrs. X takes his sweatshirt from the back

ofthecouchandpulls it

on over her head before picking up the heavy olive-green receiver. "Hello?" she stands, listening

expectantly. "Hello?" Sheadjustsher sarong. "Hello?" Shehangsup.

Sheeyes meacross theroom. "I hopeyouhaven't beengiving this phonenumber out."

"No,onlytomyparentsincaseof anemergency,"I say.

She's halfwayup thestairswhenthephoneringsagain,bringingher backdownintothelivingroom.

"Hello?" she asks a fourth time, sounding annoyed. "Oh, hi..." Her voice is strained. "No, he's not in ...

No,he decidednot toleavetoday,but I'll havehimcall youwhen hegets back ... Chenowith,right?I've

got it.AreyouinChicagoor NewYork?...Okay,bye."

NoTeuschertrufflesforyou,Ms. Chicago.

When Mr. X gets back I go into the kitchen to help him unload and pull out the usual assortment of

carcinogenicsugar-freeyogurts,tofudogs,andSnackWell's.

"Did anyone call?" he asks, pulling a single cheese pastry out of a small wax-paper bag for himself as

Mrs. X comes intothekitchen.

"Nope,"shesays. "Why,wereyouexpectingsomeone?"

"Nope."

Well, then,that's settled.

Ring.Ring.Ring.

The next afternoon as a plane flies low over the backyard, I wake to the shrill sound of the phone from inside the house. Again. Slapping at the mosquitoes feasting on my bare legs, I unpeel my flesh from the rubber slats of the dilapidated lawn chair and stand up to answer the ringing. But it abruptly stops. Again.

Earlier thismorningI stoodwarilystaringat atruckinour drive--

THE NANNY DIARIES

wayas an old man unloadedthree large rental bikes, wondering with a heavy heart if this implied thatI was to ride with Grayer up on my shoulders.At this point, I doubt I'd so much as bat an eyelash if they suggestedthatI loadhimintomywombtomakemore roomintheLandRover.

Grayer had to explain to his father that he could only ride the red ten-speed propped up in the driveway if it had training wheels. I still can't tell if the man is totally clueless or just insanely optimistic about Grayer's capabilities.At any rate, one adult bike was exchanged for a smaller one and, to my.surprise, I was permitted to bow out of their excursion. They rode off toward town, leaving me with grand plans for a long jog, a leisurely bath, and a nap, but I seem only to have made it as far as sitting down on this deckchair inmyrunningshortsandsportsbratoputonmysneakers.Well, oneoutofthreeain't sobad.

I grope under the chair for my watch, grimacing as a sliver of wood slides under my fingernail. I pull thewatchoutandsuckgentlyontheafflictedfinger.They've beengoneforover anhour.

I head back inside, turn on the hot water in the kitchen sink and thrust my hand under it. I finally get a freemoment tomyself forthefirst time in a weekandI havetospenditcoaxingthis damn houseout of myveryskin!

Ring.Ring.Ring.

I don't even bothertomove fromwhere I'm leaningagainstthecounter. Shegives upafter thefifth ring. Sheseemstobelosinghersubtleedge.

The hot water proves to be unsuccessful, forcing me to gather a makeshift emergency kit, consisting of a corn holder, matches, and a neglected bottle of Ketel One from the freezer. As I set up shop at the kitchentableI staredownatthecrackedgreenlinoleum. I wish I couldcallup andorder a fill-in friend, like a guy orders a stripper. Some fabulous young woman would show up with Cool Ranch Dori-tos, margaritas,and a copyof Heathers. OratleastsomeoldJane

magazines. If I have to flip through Good Housekeeping from July of '88 one more time I'm going to bakemyself intoanapplepie.

I reach for the vodka, freezing when I think I hear the crunch of gravel in the driveway signaling their return. I untwist the top, pour a shot into a juice glass, and feel it roll onto my tongue. I pound the glass backonthetable,turningitover like a cowboy.

I lookover attheold, decrepitAMradioonthesideboard,andturnonthepower.

Ring.Ring.Ring.

"He's nothere!" I shoutover myshoulder.

I start rolling the knob, dropping my head on my arm as I spin past dribbles of news and oldie stations blurring through the ancient speakers in tiny bursts of static. I move the knob slowly, an astronaut listening for signs of life, trying to make out a Billy Joel* song amid the fuzz. My head lifts. It's not Billy ... it's Madonna!

I rolltheknob amillimeter, standingwith excitement atthefamiliar soundof "Holiday."I grabthecorn holder and shove it inby theknob to holdit in place, crank the volume up as high as it will go, and sing along with the next best thing to a fill-in friend. There is life beyond this place, myglitter-eyed, badass, blondfriend remindsme,lifewithoutthem!

" 'If we took a holiday, oohya? " I shimmy my Lycra-clad self around the kitchen, tossing the vodka back in the freezer to chill, forgetting completely about my finger, mosquito bites, and severe sleep deprivation. Within moments I am right there with her as she insists that I take some time to celebrate, (oohya), and kick, eighties style, into the living room, grabbing Grayer's monster truck for a microphoneandbeltingit outfor all I'm worth.

I am just slidingoffthebackof thecouch,when Mr. Xthrows openthescreendoorinhis DonnaKaran runningpants. I freezein a squat,truckin hand,but he barely notices me ashe hurls his cell phoneonto thericketywingchair andstridestothestairs. I joltuptolookout

THE NANNY DIARIES

the front door, where the silhouette of Mrs. X moves closer from a heap of Grayer in the middle of the driveway. I leap over Graver's toys, run into the kitchen, dislodge the corn holder, kill the power, and runbackintothelivingroomjust asthefrontdoorswingsclosed.

She eyes mymidriff. "Get him readyfor his playdate, Nanny. He claims he scrapedhis knee, but I can't see anything. Just quiet him down. y husband has a headache." She breezes past me to the stairs, rubbingherowntemples. "Oh andsomething's wrong withhis cell. Checkit,will you?"

Mr. X screamsfromupstairs, "Where's mysuitcase?Whathaveyoudonewith mysuitcase!"

Strains of a sobbing Grayer ripple through the house as I reach for my sweatpants, finger throbbing back tolife. I pick up Mr. X's cell phone.Thecaller IDshows that all thecalls are coming from theXes' apartment.

Ring.Ring.Ring.

I struggletoopenmyheavyeyelids inthedarkness.

Ring.Ring.

1 don't knowwhyhedoesn't justcallherandtellher he's not

coming back!

"Nanny!" Grayer cries out asthephonewakes himfor thethirdtime tonight.At this pointI'm aboutone ringfromcalling herandtellingherwhereshecanstickherphoneandherfoiegras.

Reachingacross thetwo-foot divide between our beds, I squeezeGrayer's sweatyhand. "The monster," he says, "is really scary. It's going to eat you up, Nanny." The whites of Grayer's eyes shine in the dark room.

I roll over onto my side to face him, while not letting go of his hand. "Think real hard, what color was themonster?I wanttoknow, 'causeI'm friendswith a few."

He's quietfor amoment. "Blue."

"Oh,yeah?SoundslikeCookieMonsterfromSesameStreet.Was hetryingtoeatme?" I asksleepily.

"You thinkit's CookieMonster?" heasks,his deathgriplighteningasherelaxes.

"Yup. I think Cookiewanted to play with us, but he scared you byaccident and was trying to tell me he

wassorry.Wanttocountsheep?"Or rings?

"No.Singthesong,Nanny."

I yawn. " 'Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer,' " I croon softly, feeling

his warm breath on my wrist. " Take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall.'

"Hishandgrows heavyandbyninety beershe's backtosleepforatleast afewmorehours.

I turnover on myrightside andwatch him, his chest gentlyrising and falling, his hand curled under his

chin,his faceforthemoment relaxedandpeaceful. "Oh,Grove,"I sayquietly.

The next morning, after indulging in three cups of unflavored coffee, and buying a case ofAfter Bite. I

standagainsttheonlypayphoneintown,franticallydialing thenumbers ontheplasticphonecard.

"Hello?" H. H. answers.

"Oh,thankGod.I thoughtI wasn't goingtocatchyoubeforeyouleft."I slump againstthepayphone.

"Hey! No,I wasjustpacking. yflight's nottilleight.Whereareyou?"

"At a pay phone. They left me in town while they went to a dog breeder." I fish the box of cigarettes I

boughtalongwith thephonecardoutof theplastic bagandripoffthecellophanewrapper.

"Adogbreeder?"

"Mr. X is hoping to buy a small furry replacement for himself. He's leaving this afternoon. I guess one

weekof familyvacation was

THE NANNY DIARIES

about all he could take." I stick a cigarette in my mouth and light it, inhaling and exhaling quickly.

"This town must have some rule against businesses selling anything but scented candles, boats in a bottle, or flavoredfudge. Hell is ayacht-shapedcandle?

"N, just come home."A family walks by, each member in various stages of finishing ice-creamcones. I turnmybodyintothebooth,guiltily hidingthecigarette.

"But I've got to get moving money together. Ugh! When I think of all those times after work that I marchedstraighttoBarneys and blewhalf mypaycheckjust tocheer myself up, 1 couldshootmyself!" I take one last inhale and stub the cigarette out on the top of a nearby fence. "I'm so unhappy," I say quietly.

"I know,I canhearthat," hesays.

"Everyone here looks throughme,"I say, feelingmyeyes welling up with tears. "You don't understand. I'm not supposedtotalk toanybodyandeveryone acts asif I shouldbe gratefuljust tobeinNan-tucket, asifthiswere theFreshAir Fundorsomething.I'm solonely."I'm reallycrying now.

"I respectyou somuch.You've madeit throughseven whole days! Hangin therefortheGrayermeister. So,whatareyouwearing?" I smileatthefamiliar question,blowingmynoseontothebrownpaperbag.

"A G-string bikini and a cowboy hat, what else. You?" I button the top button of my cardigan and pull upthewoolturtleneckclosearoundmychinas abiting windblows offtheAtlantic.

"Sweatpants."God,I misshim.

"Listen, fly safe and remember, no pot smoking with the porn stars. Repeat: tulip barges and Anne Frankmuseum. kay. Pornstars. otokay."

"Got it, partner, keep your hat on and shoot straight from? The phone abruptly clicks and a dial tone blares into my ear, signalingthe death of my phone card. I bang the receiver into the Plexi-glas. Damn, damn,damn.

I turnawayfromthephonebooth,preparedtogobuy alotof

fudge, when the old cell phone explodes in shrill beeping, causing me to trip into the hedge and bang myelbowonthewoodenfenceliningthepathway.

Tears spring to my eyes again as I march solemnly to Annie's Candle Shack, their appointed meeting place. I shove the cigarette pack deep into the pocket of my jeans just as the Land Rover pulls into the parking lot. I can hear barking coming from the trunk of the car, but Grayer looks joylessly out through thewindow.

"Let's get going. I want to make the noon flight," Mr. X says as I strap myself in beneath the canoe and heavyraindropssplatterthewindshield.

Sharpbarkingricochetsthroughthecar.

"Makeit stop,Nanny!" Grayer saysgrumpily. "I don't likethat."

Mr. X turns offthecarandthe Xes joginto thehouse, evading thelast of thedrizzle, while I struggleto unbuckle Grayer and carry the whimpering crate in after them. I set the wooden box down on the shag rug, lifting the retriever puppy out, just as an elderly woman with shoulder-length gray hair emerges fromthekitchen.

"Grandma!" Grayer criesout.

"Ah, there you are. I thought I must have the wrong house," she says, untying her scarf and

maneuveringcarefully soasnottotouchthemildewedwalls.

"Mother." Mr. X looks as if he's just been zapped with a stun gun, but then recovers, moving forward

automatically tokiss heronthecheek. "Whatareyoudoinghere?"

"Well, that's a finewaytogreet your mother.Your charming wife calledme yesterdayand invited me to enjoy this refugee camp you probably paid a bundle for," she says, looking up at the peeling paint. "Although, honestly, I don't know why I couldn't have come tomorrow," she says to Mrs. X. "I caught the nine thirty. I tried calling from the ferry, but the line was busy, and as much fun as it would have beentowait intherainandeatoneofthefried breadproductsavailable for

THE NANNY DIARIES purchaseatyour charming stationI decidedtohail a cab."I standjustoutside oftheir triangle,takingin the grande dame who has spawned this family. I've only met women like Elizabeth X when my

grandmother has dragged me to Vassar reunions for the class of 1862. She's real Boston Brahmin, part KatharineHepbum, partOscartheGrouch. "Elizabeth,welcome."Mrs. Xglides forwardtogive her mother-in-law aguardedkiss. "CanI takeyour

coat?" Call theunion. rs. X istaking acoat!

Elizabeth slips out of her beige Burberry trench, revealing a blue and white polka-dot pleated dress.

"Darling?" Mrs. X says to Mr. X, who still looks stunned. "You're always saying how you two don't get

tospendenoughtime together,soI thought I'd giveyou alittle surprise."

"I saidhi, Grandma,"Grayersays impatiently.

She bends her knees slightly with her hands on her thighs. "You look just like your father. Now, run

along."Shestraightensup. "Who's this?Andwhat's that?"

"Elizabeth, this is Nanny. She looks after Grayer." I shift the puppy to my left arm and reach out to

shakeherhand.

"Lovely." Sheignoresthegestureandreachesintoherpursetopullout apackofBensonandHedges.

"That's Grayer's newdog," Mr. Xsaysjovially.

"I hateit,"Grayer saysfromthecouch.

"Wouldyoulike a cocktail,Mother?"

"Scotchandsoda,dear,thankyou."

"Oh,I thinkwe onlyhavevodka,Elizabeth,"Mrs. Xsays.

"Send.'m sorry,whatwasyourname?" Elizabethasks me.

"Nan,"I say.

"I cango,Mother."

"I just traveled three hours through torrential rain to spend time with my son. My son who, from the

lookofit, mighthave aheartattack anyday."Shepatshis protrudingstomach. "SendNan."

"Well, Mother,theinsurancedoesn't cover?

Sheturnstome. "Nan,canyoudrive?"

"Yes."

"Doyouhave, onyourperson, a validdriver's license?"

"Yes."

"Son,give herthekeys. Dowe needanythingelse?" sheasksMrs. X.

"No,I thinkwe haveeverything, Elizabeth."

"The Clarks and the Havemeyers are coming by tomorrow, and knowing you, dear, there's only rabbit

food.Nan,comewith me tothekitchen. I'll make alist."

I dutifully follow her into the avocado-green kitchen, dragging the dog crate behind me as I go. I park

theboxnearthetableandplacethepuppygentlybackonher towel.AssoonasI latchthecagedoorshe resumesher yapping. Elizabeth throws open a few cupboards, while I take a piece of paper from the pad by the phone. "This

place is quite a shithole," she mutters to herself. "Okay." She starts dictating. "Scotch, gin, tonic,

Clamato, tomato juice, Tabasco, Worcestershire, lemons, limes." She opens the fridge and tuts with

disgust. "What the hell is soy milk? Does a soybean have udders? Have I missed something? Carr's

watercrackersandmorebrie. Canyouthinkof anythingelse?"

"Um, macadamianuts, pretzels,andpotatochips?"

"Perfect." My grandmother taught me that when entertaining WASPs, the key is to put out only a tiny

silver bowl of eachitemand suddenlyevenPringles haveclass. "Son!Canyoupleaseput thatgoddamn

doginthegarage!Theyelping isgiving me a migraine!" sheshouts.

"Coming,Mother." Mr. andMrs. Xenter thekitchen.

"I couldn't agree more, Elizabeth. Nanny, help Mr. X carry the crate into the garage," Mrs. X instructs

me.

I takethefrontendof thecrateandtrytomakereassuring

THE NANNY DIARIES

noises to the puppy as we carry her out to the cold garage. Her brown eyes stare up at me as she tries to

steadyherself. "There,there,goodgirl,"I murmur.

Mr. X looksatme asifhecan't quitefigureoutwhoI'm talkingto.

Mrs. X follows us down the rickety wooden steps as we lower the crate onto the damp cement floor.

"Nanny, here are the keys." She holds them up as she comes over. "Oh, good." She looks down with

disdain. "I think it'll bemuchhappierout?

Mr. X grabs her by the elbow and steers her into the corner by the boiler. "How dare you invite her

without consulting me," he growls through clenched teeth. Still waiting for the keys, I crouch down to

adjustthepuppy's towel, tryingtomakemyself asunobtrusive aspossible.

"Buthoney,itwas a surprise. 1 wasjusttryingto?

"I knowexactlywhatyouweretrying todo.Well, I hopeyou're happy. I reallyhopeyouare."Hepivots

inhis loafersandstorms backintothekitchen.

She stands with her back to me in the corner, facing the rusting trash cans. "Oh, I am." She reaches up

and smooths her fingertips across her forehead. "I'm so happy. Really fucking happy," she says quietly

intothedarkness.

Shewalksshakilypastme,backup thestepstothekitchen,thecarkeys still clenchedinherfist.

"Um, Mrs. X?" I say, standingasshereachesthesplinteringdoor.

Sheturns,hermouthpursed. "What?"

"Um, thekeys?" I ask.

"Right." Shehurls thematmeandstepsthroughthekitchendoortorejoinher family.

He was determined to show who was master in that house, and when commands would not draw Nona

fromthekennel,heluredheroutof itwithhoneyed words,andseizedherroughly,draggedherfromthe

nursery. Hewasashamedofhimself, andyet hedidit.

. ETERPAN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

angan<

imper

Moments after finally surrendering to unconsciousness I wake to sobbing. I pull myself out of bed and

liedownbesideGrayerashethrashesaround,battling themonsterswhohavechasedusout ofourrest.

"Shhh. Shhh." I try to take him in my arms, but not before one of his flailing limbs manages to whack

me intheeye. "Ow,shit." I situp.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't use thatkind of languagein frontof Grayer." I look over to seeMrs.

X silhouettedinher mutton-sleeved nightgownbythedoorway. "Well?" sheasks,making noattempt to

come closer.

"I thinkhehad anightmare."

"Okay, then. Just try to keep him quiet. Mr. X has his tennis tournament today." She disappears back

downthehall, leavingusalone.

"Shhh,I'm righthere,Grove,"I whisperasI strokehis back.

He shakes, turning his head into my neck. "No you're not. You're gonna go away." He begins to sob

againstmyshoulder.

THE NANNY DIARIES

"Grove,I'm here. I'm righthere."

He pulls back slightly and raises himself onto his elbow, puts his small fingers on my cheek and turns

myfaceto his. In thedim glowof the Grover night-light he looksintentlyinto myeyes. I hold his gaze,

taken aback by the intensity of his expression, as if he were trying to memorize me. When he's finished

heliesbackdown,his bodyslowlyrelaxingasI curlaroundhim,whispering ourmonstersaway.

Unable to get back to sleep, I exhale the last of my cigarette into the shed, stubbing the smoke out into

thewetgrass, andlookbackatthehouseframedbythemoonlight.

"Woof!"Thestill unnamedXpetnestles againstmyankles.

"Shhh, you," I say, reaching down to scoop her up like a baby, her slick paws brushing my chin. I

carefully makemywaythroughthewet grassuptothebackdoor,pullingitopenslowly andcringingat

theunavoidablecreak.I stepoutofmydamptennisshoesintothekitchen.

She wriggles to get free as I nestle her into the crate. Shaking with agitated exhaustion, I stare at the

refrigerator. I tiptoe over and open the freezer door to pull out the vodka, desperate to be knocked out.

But the icebox light reveals that my little survival swigs have made a noticeable dent in the reserves. I

hold the bottle under the tap before returning it to its spot under the frozen veggie burgers. I hate what

thistriphas reducedmeto.I swear,anotherweekand I'd bemixingcrackinthebathroom.

On my way upstairs I see that someone has finally taken the receiver off the hook in the living room.

It's about time. I crawl under the scratchy wool blanket to await sleep, half-dreaming of Ms. Chicago

parachutingontothefrontlawnatbreakfast.

I'm awakenedtwohourslaterbyGrayertrying toscrambleover metogettothebathroom.

28 1

"Nanny,it's time forbreakfast."

"In where? France?" I'm so exhausted I can barely see. I hold on to the wall as I follow him to the

bathroom and help him pull down his pajama bottoms. While he's relieving himself I pull open the

shade,squintingasthebathroomis bathedinorangelight.

I pull a sweatshirt onover mypajamasandweshuffledownstairs.

"Whatdoyouwantforbreakfast?" I ask,bendingover topickup thepuppy.

"No,Nanny,leaveit,"hewhines,turninghis backonthecage. "Leave itinthebox."

"Grayer,whatdoyouwantforbreakfast?"

"I don't know. Froot Loops?" he mumbles as I heave her up onto my shoulder. She barks and licks my

face.

"Sorry,bud, youknowweonlyhaveSoyFlakes."

"I hateSoyFlakes. I saidI wanttheotherkind!"

"I want a personal life, Grove. We can't always have what we want." He nods. I give him Soy Flakes,

whichhepokesatwhile I takethepuppyoutsidetorelieveherself.

At eight o'clock I wake at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Mrs. X descends in yet another

Nantucketoutfit sheboughtatSearle andcasually placesthephonereceiverbackonits cradle. "Grayer,

let's turnofftheTV. Whatdoyouwantforbreakfast?"

"Heal?I starttosay.

"I wantFroot Loops!I wantedit, butNannywouldn't give ittome."

"Nanny,whydidn't youfeedGrayer?" sheasks, turningoffthetelevision.

"I WANT IT! I NEED IT!" he screams like a baby into the dark screen, rousing the dog into a yelping

frenzy.

"Cut it out," I say quietly, and it silences him for a second until he remembers this isn't my show. Full--

on screamingensuesanddoesn't stopuntilhe's eatinghis secondchocolatedoughnutandthe

THE NANNY DIARIES

TVisbackon.I yawn,wonderingifthey'd gethim a hookerifhecriedhardenough.

"I believe I've made it clear, Nanny," she says, looking down at the retriever as if she were vermin.

"That I don't like the dog in the living room. Please put it back in the garage." I pick up the puppy.

"HaveyoupackedGrayer's activitybagfortheclub?"

"No,I've beenkeepinghim company."

"Well, heseemsoccupiedforthemoment," shesays.

I nod,pickingupthebagwith myfreehand.

"Also, did you get more wipes?" What, with the private chauffeur you got me? I can't even get myself

to adrugstore, youfuckingfreak.

"Um, did Mr. Xpick themupwhenhewasatthestore?" I askjustasthephonerings.

Mrs. X picks up the receiver. "Hello?" She stares at me while gripping the receiver. "Hello!" She slams

the phone down, shaking the bamboo table. "I don't know if he did. Did you put it on the shopping

list?" Sherestsher handonherhip.

"I never sawyesterday's shoppinglist."

Shesighs. "Honey?"shecalls upstairs. "Didyougetmorewipes?"

Silence.We all stareexpectantlyattheceiling. Finally we hearthesoundof slowfootstepson thestairs.

Hedescendswearinghis tenniswhitesandmakes adirect beelineforthekitchen.

"Didyougetwipes?" sheaskshis back. "Honey?You know?thoselittlecloths I usetocleanGrayer?"

He keeps walking, then stops at the door, turns to me and says, "Tell my wife I got what was on the list," and disappears into the kitchen. I can hear Mrs. X exhale slowly behind me. Won-der-ful. Ladies andgentlemen, fortheremainderof theshowtheroleofFuckedwill beplayedbyNanny.

"What, in the name of Christ, is all this racket?" The senior Mrs. X stands in a Pucci zip-front robe in

thedoorway,flinging abejew!eledhandtowardthetelevision. "Canwe pleaseturnoffthatgodawfulpurpledinosaur?"

"No!" Grayerspewschocolatecrumbs onthecouch.

"I'm sorry,Elizabeth,"Mrs. X says,rubbinghertemples. "Wouldyoulikesomecoffee?"

"Black,likeink."Neitherwoman moves,indicatingthattheonusisonmetoproducethisinkycoffee.

"Elizabeth,whydon't yougositontheporchandNanny'11bringyourcoffeeoutthere?"

"Doyouwantmetocatchpneumonia?"

"Howaboutthekitchen,then?" Mrs. X asks,buttoninghercardigan.

"I don't supposemylazysonhasgonetogetthepaperyet?"

"No,butyesterday's isstill onthetable."

"Well, now that would have been useful yesterday. Honestly, I don't know why you insist on spending

your vacation here in this ... hut when you could have come and stayed with me on the Capeand Sylvia

wouldbeservingus all eggsrightnow."

"Nextyear,Elizabeth,I promise."

After returning the dog to her crate on the kitchen floor, I'm scoopinggrounds into the filter when Mrs.

Xcomes in. Mr. Xabruptlystandsupfromwherehe's beenstudyingTheEconomist atthekitchentable andgoesoutthebackdoor. She takes another long exhale, biting the side of her mouth. She opens the fridge, grabs a yogurt, holds

it for a second and puts it back. She brings out a loaf of bread, flips it around to look at the nutrition information and returns it to the shelf. She closes the door and pulls down the box of Soy Flakes from ontopofthefridge,giving it aonce-over.

"Dowehaveanygrapefruit?" sheasks.

"I don't think Mr. X gotany."

"Nevermind, I'll eatattheclub,"shesays, puttingbackthebox.

THE NANNY DIARIES

She walksslowly over to me,tracingher fingersalongthe counter. "Oh, a boy calledhere for you a few

days ago.Itwas a terribleconnection,though..."

"Really? I'm sorry?

"He's notthekidwholives oneleven, ishe?" sheasks.

"Actually, um, yeah." I get a coffee cup out of the cupboard, silently willing her to drop the conversation. "I recognized the name, but it tpok me a few hours to realize from where. I was wondering how you

knew him. Did you meet in the building? Was Grayer with you?" The lurid image hangs between us of me not only having sex on her bed, but enabling said sex by letting Grayer take a nap. Hard to say whichshe'd findmore alarming.

"Yeah ... It's funny..."

"Well, he must be quite a catch for you." She walks toward the windows and looks out at Mr. X

standing in the yard with his back to the house as the fog lifts. "His mother was telling me that his last

girlfriend. he was so beautiful. Every time I saw her in the elevator I'd tell her she should go in for

modeling. And always so pulled together." She turns to eye my pajamas. "Anyway, she just went to

Europe on a Fulbright. I don't suppose you'd ever consider applying for a program like that? Though I

doubtNYUstudentsareeligibleforawards ofthatcaliber."

"Well... I wanted to work after graduation ... that is, I'm not really interested in international fieldwork

so? But she's already walked out. I lean against the avocado-green linoleum counter, my jaw gaping.

Thecoffeemachineclicks off.

"DearMrs. X,yousuck,"I mutterasI pour.

"Pardon?"I whiparound. Mr. Xstandsbehindme,stuffing adoughnutinhis mouth.

"Nothing.Um, canI helpyou?"

"Mymothersaidyouwere makingcoffee."

I pulldownanotherchippedcup,still having aminorFulbrightattack. "Doesyourmothertakemilkand

sugar?"

"Nope,black,black,black."

"ShouldI nothaveused a filter?" Helaughsandfor a secondhelooksjustlikeGrayer.

"Nanny!Where's thatcoffee?" I hustlebacktotheliving room,trying nottospill.

"So I said to him, if he thinks he's going to screw me he's got another think coming!" Mrs. X has a

painedexpressionasElizabethregalesher with thetrialsof gettingher poolproperlyserviced.

"Nanny, why don't you get him dressed? We're going over to the club. Honey, you and Mommy are

going to spend the whole day together watching Daddy play tennis." Grayer barely looks over from the

TV.

I kneeltodress himinfrontofSesameStreet.

"No, Nanny. I want to wear the Pooh shirt, I hate that one," he says when I hold up the Power Ranger

shirt.

"Poo shirt!That's disgusting!" ElizabethXcries asshestandstogoupstairs.

"It's Winnie-the-Pooh,actually,"I clarifyasshepasses.

I'm tuckingtheoffendingshirtintohis shortswhenMrs. Xcomes infromthekitchen.

Ring.

She pauses briefly to raise the receiver a fewinches and then slams it back down again. "No, that won't do."Shewavesdownatme. "We're goingtotheclub.Getoneof thoseLacosteshirtsI boughthim."

"No!I wanttowearthisone!" Hepreparesforanothergale.

"Grayer, that shirt isn't appropriate," she says definitively. She picks up her handbag to wait for us while I wrestle himintothenewshirtandrebrushhishair.

"Nanny,his shortsare wrinkled.Oh,well, I supposethey'd justget wrinkledontherideover anyway."I wonder if she's considering making him stand in the car, hugging the front seat all the way to the NantucketYachtClub.

THE NANNY DIARIES

"Grayer, stay by the car while Mommy and Nanny get our beach things," Mrs. X calls after him as he runs up onto the golf course abutting the club's parking lot. She sighs, opening the trunk, and begins to loadmeup. Mr. X andElizabethhavealreadytrottedofftothecourtsforhis firstgame.

"Thereyougo."I have astrawbagcontainingeveryone's clothingchangesswinging offmyrightelbow,

a duffel bag full of lotions, sand toys, and sporting goods hanging from the other elbow, and an enormous pile of beach blankets and beach towels in my arms, to which she adds two fully inflated floaties. I liftmychinobedientlysothatshecantucktheorangeplasticsecurelybeneathit.

"Grayer Addison X, I SAID WAIT\" she screams into my face and over my shoulder, sliding her little yellow Kate Spade tote up to her elbow and sauntering forward, hand in hand with Grayer, yellow silk sarong billowing in the cool breeze. I tighten my arms around the pile, trying not to trip as I precariously navigate behind her. She greets the entire club as she passes, remembering each mother and child byname. I followher, thankfulthatthe floaties have positioned myheadat suchan angle that no one can tell if I'm rolling my eyes. Which I am. A lot. We kick off our sandals and walk down the woodenplankstothesand.

Sheweaves inandoutof umbrellas, beforepointingher headat aplot of emptybeachto indicatewhere I'm tosetup camp.Grayer skipsincircles aroundtheblanketasI layitout.

"Come on! Let's go swimming! Right now. Right now." I look over at Mrs. X, as I anchor the blanket with abag,but she's alreadyimmersed inconversation.

"Let's get your suit on, Grover." I take his hand to walk up to the cabana that someone named Ben's brother has lent us for the week while he's in Paris. I close the wooden door, leaving us in damp semi!darkness,with onlyslivers ofsunlightpeeringinthroughtheslats

and onto the white boards. He pulls open the door the moment his other foot is through the top of the shorts.

"Wait, G! Got to lather up." I hold up the Chanel Bebe SPF 62, which I am constantly forced to slather onhim.

"I hatethatstuff!" Hetriestomake arunforit,butI grab hisarm.

"Howaboutyouputit onmyfaceand I'll putit onyours,"I offer.

"Me first." He gives in. I squirt the white cream on his fingers and he smears it over my nose. I gently cover his, tryingtogethis cheeksatthesametime sowe cangetoutofthecabanabeforesunset.

"Nanny,we aretakingturns!Don't cheat," headmonishes, generouslyslatheringmyears.

"Sorry, Grove. I just want to hurry up and get this stuff on you so we can get out there and go swimming." I cover his earsandchest.

"I'll do it myself, then." He smears his hands on his arms and legs, covering about a fifth of his exposed skin.I benddowninthedoorway,attempting toeven itout,butherunsawayfrommebackdowntothe sand.Tenpedicuredtoesstopinfrontofme.

"Nanny, don't forget to put sunscreen on him. Oh, and there's a jellyfish warning today so you better bringeverything uptothepool. Seeyoulater."

I schlep our stuffback up to the pool, only to discover that the water is slowly being drained out after a small child had an "accident." We head over to the Little Schooners Playground, a bit of an overstatement for a rusted swing set in a shadeless, fenced patch of sand. The sun beats down mercilessly as Grayer attempts to play with the seven other children, none of whom is close to him in age.We all poolbeachsupplies,takingturnscoloring, throwing aball, andpickingour noses.

After he threatens to hurl a two-year-old off the swing set for her juice box, I leave our stuff and lead Grayer over totheclaycourts togetdrinkmoneyfrom Mr. X. For agoodtwentyminutes,

THE NANNY DIARIES

we stumble along the bleachers in the heat searching for his match, but find it difficult to pick him out ofthecrowdofmiddle-aged menwearingvisors.

"That's him!That's mydad!" Grayerkeeps shoutinghopefully,pointingatvariousmen intenniswhites, onlytohavethemturnaroundwithdisconcertinglyunfamiliar faces.

When we finally spot him on the last court Grayer throws himself against the fence, gripping the wire with his fingersandscreaming,likeDustinHoffmaninTheGraduate.

'VaaAAAAaadddDDdyyyyYYYYyyyyyy!!!!"

Elizabeth hisses at us disapprovingly as Mr. X marches over with a murderous look in his eye. I guess Grayer "the politicalprisoner" doesn't fitinwith theimagehe's beencultivating all morning.

"Come on now, sport, don't cry," he booms for the whole court to hear. I put my hands gently on Grayer's shoulders to pull him back. "Get him out of here!" he whispers fiercely as soon as he's close enough that he won't be overheard. "And here." He pulls his cell phone from his belt and thrusts it throughthefenceatme. "Takethisgoddamnthingwithyou."

He stalks back to his game before I can ask him for the money. I look up to Elizabeth, but she glares straight in front of her, blowing smoke coolly to the side. I shove the phone deep into my pocket, and pickupGrayer,who's screaming,andlughim,stillscreaming,totheparkinglot,becauseI havenoidea whereelsetogo.

When I am about two minutes from teaching Grove how to drink from the sprinklers we finally track downMrs. Xatthegolfcourse.

"There you are!" she exclaims, as if she's been looking for us for hours. "Grayer, are you hungry?" He droopstothegrass,still holdingmyhand.

"I thinkhe's thirsty,actually?

"Well, theBenningtonshaveinvited afewfamilies totheir

house for a barbecue. Won't that be fun?" He plops down on the lawn, red faced and sweating, forcing me topickhimupandfollowherasshestrollsbacktothecar,sippingfromher Perrier.

When we pull into the Benningtons' drive the first thing I notice is the Filipino man in a white jacket walking a poodle around the fountain. The second is that there are at least fifteen cars parked on the gravel. How do you throw together an impromptu barbecue for fifteen families when the Benningtons left the club only minutes before us?As we walk through the white gate at the side of the house to the poolareatheanswerbecomes apparent.You callthehouseonyourcell phoneandmobilizeyourstaff.

I stand there, absorbing the realization that there is no way my wedding is going to be as nice as this informal little barbecue. It's not just that the impeccably manicured lawn goes right down to the water, or thateverything isinfullbloom, orthatanothermanin a white jacketis tendingbar,servingicecubes that all havegrapesfrozeninthem, while a thirdflips filet-mignon burgers;it's not even thattableswith starched floral tablecloths have been set up all over the lawn; what finally gets me are the watermelons sculptedintothebustsof formerpresidents.

I am startled by Grayer, fully revived from the contraband can of Coke his dad absentmindedly handed him, dumping a hot dog on my foot. He has ketchup all over himself, including his Lacoste shirt. I couldn't bemore pleased.

"Come on, Grover, let's get you another dog." He and I eat our lunch, and then I sit nursing a vodka-tonic while he runs around thelawn with theother kids. Bynow I knowbetter than totalk to anyof the guests.

I see the Horners arrive with an attractive tan woman in tow. Caroline brings her over to meet Mrs. X while Jacktakesthegirls tothegrill. I watchwith curiosity asMrs. Xswitches herselfon,her hands

THE NANNY DIARIES

going to her pearls, her face a mask of compassion. This must be Caroline's divorcee from California. After a few minutes Mrs. X loses steam, holds up her empty glass to signal her need for a refill, and departs.

Jack joins the two women, bringing with him a hot dog and Mr. X. The foursome engage in animated conversation for some time until Lulu skips over and pulls her parents away. Mr. X and the tan woman starttowalkover towhereI'm sitting. I quicklyslump downinthechairandclosemyeyes. NotthatMr.

X couldpickmeout of alineup.

"Well,"I hearhimsayastheypass by, "I haveseasontickets, soifyou'd liketogo..."

"Doesn't yourwife gowith you?" sheasks.

"She usedto,butshe's sowrappedupwith oursonlately..."Your who?

I sit back up to check if Mrs. X has noticed her husband's stroll down to the water, but she's embroiled

with Mrs. Longacre. Mypocketstartstovibrate.

"Whatthe... ?" I pull Mr. X's pulsingphoneoutandtrytoswitch it offwithoutspillingmydrink, hitting

buttonsatrandom.

"Hello?" I hear avoice calloutfrommypalm.

"Hello?" I instinctivelyraisethephonetomyear.

"Whoisthis?" awoman's voicedemands.

"Nanny,"I say. There's noneedtoaskwho sheis.

"Nanny?" Shesoundslikeshe's crying. "Is hethere?"

"No," I say, craning my neck to see down to the water, but Mr. X and his new friend have disappeared.

"I'm sorry,look,I've gottago?

"No.Don't hangup.Please. Pleasejusttellmewhereheis,"shebegstearfully.

I crane my head around. "Wait a sec." I hold the phone down low at my hip and walk swiftly up to the

house and into the first French door off the porch. I close it shut behind me, keeping Grayer steadily in

mygaze. I take adeepbreathbeforeliftingthephone back up to my ear. "Look, I'm not really sure what to tell you. Not to be trite, but I really just work here."

"Whatis hestill doingupthere?Hewon't answer hisphone, i_?

"He's, he's..." I don't knowwhatto say. "Playing tennis ... andeatingdoughnuts,I guess?"

"Buthehates her,hehatesgoingawaywith her. Hecan't behavingfun?

"Well, yeah,no, hedoesn't reallyseemtobehavingfun."

"Really?" she asks. I look out the window at the party, such as it is: balding paunchy men and their

second or third wives, who're just biding time till their next peel or tuck, all oblivious to their children

running back and forth on the lawn, savoring a few moments away from their monsters. And the

nannies, all sittingquietly onthedampgrass, awaitingtheirnextorder.

"No,"I say, "nobodyishaving anyfun."

"What?Whatdidyousay?"

"Look, I just have to ask, because you seem so intent on being here. What is it here that you want?

Whataboutanyofthisisappealingtoyou?" I gestureoutatthewindow.

"You don't know what you're talking about. What are you? Eighteen?" Her tone changes as she sobers upfromher crying jag. "I don't seehowthisisanyofyourbusiness."

"Oh, oh, you know what? I don't think this is any of my business, either!" I want to hurl the phone straight through the window and have it land right in Mrs. X's Perrier. "You came to my house. How much more of my problem could you have made this? Having a covert affair, okay, means nobody knows about it. You do not get to have a crew of little helpers." I stare at the phone. "Are you still there?"

"Yes."

"Well, forwhatever it's worth,I've been all upandinherefor

THE NANNY

ninemonths,asinas agirl couldget, andI cantellyou: thereisnothinggoodhere?

"ButI?

"Anddon't thinkit's all her,either,becauseit's not. Shewas youonce,you know. Soyou canplay all the Cole Porter you want, turn the heat up as high as it will go, but in the end you'll spend your life chasing him down, just like everybody else in that apartment." I look back out the window at the children playing tagonthelawn.

"My," she says, "that's quite an impressive moral analysis from the girl who stole eight hundred dollars fromme?

Suddenly Grayer trips and goes flying through the air. My breath catches and it seems to take hours for himtoland.

"Are youlistening?" sheasks. "Hello?Nanny?I saidI fullyexpect?

"What, do I have to say it in Spanish? Get out of this relationship while you still have a pulse!And this advice is worth way more than eight hundred dollars, so you just consider us even." I click the phone shut. There is an interminable pause and then a bloodcurdling wail. The entire party is struck silent, no onemoves.

I run out to the porch and down onto the lawn. I weave through the immobile linen shifts and khaki pants,immediatelylocatingMrs. Xinthepartingcrowd.

"Nannnyyy!" he cries. Mrs. X gets there first. "Nannnyyy!" She tries to bend down to him, but he hits out at her and flings his bleeding arm around mylegs. "No! 1 want Nanny." I sit down on the grass and pullhimontomylap.Mrs. Benningtoncomes over withthefirst-aid kit, whiletheotheradults lookon.

"Here,whydon't you letMommy take a lookatit," I say. Heholds out his arm, allowing herto bandage it, butcurlshis faceawayfrom herintomyshoulder.

"Sing thebottle song,"heasks tearfullyasMrs. Xawkwardlyappliesiodine.

"'Ninety-nine bottles of beer on thewall,' " I singquietly, while rubbinghis back. "'Ninety-nine bottles

ofbeer ...'"

"'Takeonedownandpassitaround,'" hemumblesintomyshoulder.

"Where's myhusband?" shesuddenlyasks, scanningthecrowd just as Mr. X roundsthe hedgerowwith

his arm around Caroline's friend. They're both a little flushed and clearly hadn't been anticipating that

all eyes wouldbeonthemwhentheyreturned.

I hold G's bandaged arm as he swishes in his bath, a reminder not to get the Batman Band-Aid wet. He

leans his head against my hand. "I'm going to get a boat when I get big. It's going to be blue and have a

poolonit."

"I hope it'll bewarmer thantheoneattheclub."I washhis backwiththewashclothinmyfreehand.

"Oh,man.It willbesohot!Like thisbath!Andyoucancome andswim with me."

"Thanks for the invitation, Grove. You know, when you're all grown-up you'll have lots of friends and

I'll bereal old?

"Toooldtoswim? No way, Nanny.You liar."

"You're right, G, I'm lying, count me in for the cruise." I drop my chin to the cool porcelain beside his

head.

"You couldbring Sophie, too! Shecould have her own pool.A poolfor all the animals.And Katie could bringherguineapig.Okay,Nanny?" "What about your puppy, Grove? Have you thought of a name for her yet?" I ask, hoping if we name

hershemightnotgetleftintheyard all dayagain.

"I want aguineapig, Nanny.Ellie canhavethepuppy."

"Theyalreadyhave adog,Grove."

"Fine,nodogsontheboat. Onlyguineapigs.Andwe'll all

THE NANNY DIARIES

swim foreverandever andever."Hetugshis plasticaircraft carrier incircles.

I nuzzlemynoseinhis hairandrestmyeyes whilehefinishesparkinghis boats. "It's a date."

I wait until Grayer is completely asleep and Elizabeth has turned in before going down to the living

room. Mr. and Mrs. X are reading the paper, sitting silently across from each other in the worn armchairs oneithersideof thecouch.Bothofthemtilt theirsectionstowardtheflickeringsidelampsin thedarkenedroom. I take a seatinthemiddle oftheemptycouch,butneitherX botherstolookup.

Taking a deep breath, andin themost supplicatingvoice I can muster,I say, "Urn, I was just wondering

ifitwouldbepossibleif,insteadof driving backonSaturday?

Mrs. X lowersher paper. "I'm pregnant," shesayssteadily.

Hispaperdoesn't move. "Whatdidyousay?" heasks.

"I'm pregnant," shesays in asteely,even tone.

Hispaperdrops. "What?"

"Pregnant."

"Are yousure?" Helooksather,his eyes wide,his voiceshaking.

"Once you've been pregnant you know how to recognize the signs." She smiles slowly at him, laying

downherFullHouse.

"MyGod,"hesays, atrickleof sweatformingonhis brow.

"Andtomorrowatbreakfastwe'll tellyour mother."

They stare at each other, tacitly acknowledgingthe arrangement she has made on their behalf. I pray to

fall betweenthecouchcushions.

"Now,Nanny."Sheturnshercoldsmiletome. "WhatisitI candoforyou?"

I stand. "You know what? It's totally not a big deal. We can talk about this later.And congratulations," I

offerasanafterthought.

"No,thisis a perfecttime,isn't it, honey?" Shesmiles athim.

Hejuststaresbackather.

"Sit down, Nanny,"shesays.

I swallow. "Well, it's just that I have to find a new apartment this weekend, so if there's any way that

you could drop me off at the ferry Friday night on the way to your party ... It's just that there'll be so

much traffic on Saturday and I haven't even started packing and I need to have everything boxed by

MondayandI wasjustthinking,youknow,ifit's not anytrouble ... Ofcourse,ifyouneedmeI'm happy

tostay. justthought..."

Mrs. X fixesme with a steelygaze. "Well, I have abetter idea,Nanny,whydon't you justleavetonight?

Mr. X candrive youtothe ferry. Elizabeth's here. e're reallycovered."

"Oh,no, really,I don't needtoleavetonight. I justthought,youknow,theremightbesomuchtrafficon

Saturday. I'm happy to stay, I want to stay? My heart pounds as I become fully cognizant of what is at

stake. I am staggeredbythevision ofGrover, wakingin afewhours,terrifiedandalone.

Mrs. X cutsme off. "Don't be silly. Honey,when's thenextferry?"

Heclearshis throat."I'm notsure."

"Well, youcanjustdrive Nannyover tothedock. heygopretty regularly."

Hestands. "I'll getmyjacket."Andexits.

Sheturnsbacktome. "Now,whydon't yougoupandpack?"

"Really, Mrs. X, I don't need to leave tonight. I just wanted to have my apartment sorted before Monday."

She smiles. "Frankly, Nanny, I just don't feel that your heart's in it anymore and I think Grayer can sensethat, too.We need someone who can give Grayer their full commitment, don't you agree? I mean, for the money we're paying you, with the new baby coming, we should really have someone more professional."Shestands. "I'll give you ahand,soyoudon't wakeGrayer."

She follows me toward the stairs. I walk up ahead of her, frantically running through scenarios that mightgiveme achancetosay

THE NANNY DIARIES

good-bye to him. She comes behind me into the small room and stands between our beds with crossed arms, watching me carefully as I hastily stuff my things into my bag, awkwardly moving around her in thecrampedspace.

Grayer moansinhis sleepandrolls over. I achetowakehim.

I finish collecting my things in her shadow and sling my bag up over my shoulder, mesmerized by the sight of Grover's hand in a tightfist floppedover theside of the bed, the Batman Band-Aid sticking out beneathhispushed-up pajamasleeve.

She gestures for me to walk past her to the door. Before I can help it, I reach out to smooth the damp hair off his forehead. She grabs my hand an inch from his face and whispers through clenched teeth, "Betternottowakehim." Shemaneuversmetothestairs.

As I startdown aheadof her myeyes fill with tears, causing the stairs to pitch beneath me and I have to grip thebanister tosteadymyself. Shebumps againstthebackofmybag.

"I... I... I justwanted?Myvoice iscoming outinlittle gulps. I turnuptofaceher.

"What?" she hisses, leaning menacingly forward. I pull back, the weight of my bag drawing me off balance as I start to fall. She instinctively reaches out and grabs my arm, swinging me against the banister asI rightmyself. We faceeachother,eye toeye onthesamestep. "What?" shechallengesme.

"She wasintheapartment," I say. "I justthoughtyoushouldknow,I mean,I?

"You fucking child." She comes back at me in this two-and-a-half-foot space with all theforce of years of suppressedrageand humiliation. "You. Have no idea.Whatyou're talkingabout. Is thatclear?" Each wordfeelslike apunch. "And I'd bevery careful. If I were you.Howyouregardour family?

Mr. X honks the car from the driveway, startling the puppy, who begins a round of sharp barking from thekitchen.Aswe reachthe

bottomofthestairsthenoisewakesGrayer. "Nanny!" hecries out. "NAAANNYYY!!"

Mrs. X pushes past me. "Ugh, thatdog,"she mutters, marchingto the kitchen. She shoves the swinging dooropenandthedogboundsout,yappingfiercelyather.

"Just takeit,"shesays, roughlyliftingthepuppyupbyherribcage.

"I couldn't?

"NANNY,COMEHERE. I NEEDTHELIGHTON. NANNY,WHEREAREYOU?"

"I said, take it." Mrs. X. thrusts her out at me. Her paws flail for solid ground, forcing me to

instinctively receive her before she's dropped. Mrs. X jerks the front door open, grabbing her purse off the side table. She pulls her checkbook out and scribbles furiously while I look over toward the stairs. "Here."Shehandsmethecheck.

I turnand walk past her onto the gravel driveway, as Grayer's increasinglyhysterical cries echo out into thedarkness.

"NAAAANNNNYYYY!INEEEEEEDYOOOOUl/171717!"

"Have a good trip!" she calls out from the doorway as I make my way shakily down the path lit by the

Rover's headlights,willing mykneesnottogive out.

I getinthefrontseatandtrytosteadymyhandsasI pulltheseatbeltacrossthepuppyandmyself. "Oh," Mr. X says, looking at her. "Yeah, I guess Grayer's a little young. Maybe in a few years." He

starts thecar and peels out of thedriveway, and before I can lookback to fix the house in mymind, it is eclipsedbythewoodsasheracesthecaracrosstheempty countryroads. He pulls into the deserted ferry dock and I open the door to get out. "Well," he says as if it's just

occurredtohim. "GoodluckwiththeMCATs. hey're a killer!" Assoonasthedoorslams, hepeelsoutoftheparkinglotand THE NANNY DIARIES drives away. I walk slowly into the nearly empty ferry terminal and look around for the schedule. The

nextferryisn't foranhour.

ThepuppywrigglesundermyarmandI scanthewaitingroomforanythingthatcouldserveas a carrier.

I go over to the guy who's closing up the Dunkin' Donuts counter and ask him for a bunch of plastic

bags and some string to fasten a makeshift leash. I pull all my clothes out of my tote, shove them in the

plasticbags, linethetotewith theremainingonesandplacethedoginontop.

"There you go," I say. She looks up at me and barks before hunkering down to chew on the plastic. I

slouchbackagainstthepeelingorangeseatandlookupintothefluorescentlight.

I canstill hearhimscreamingforme.

Butnobodyever knewwhatMaryPoppinsfeltaboutit, forMaryPoppinsnevertoldanybodyanything.

. ARYPOPPINS

CHAPTER TWELVE

It's Been a Pleasure

"Yo, lady!" I jolt awake. "Last stop. ort Authority!" the driver shouts from the front of the bus. I

hastily gather my things together. "I wouldn't be trying to sneak on any animals again, girlie. Or next

time you'll findyourself walkingbacktoNantucket,"hesays,leeringatmeover thesteeringwheel.

Thepuppyletsout a lowgrowl ofindignationandI stickmyhandinthetotetoquiether.

"Thanks,"I mutter. Fat gut.

Stepping down into the stench of the terminal, I squint in the brightness of the orange-tiled hallway.

The Greyhound clock reads 4:33 as I stand for a minute to get my bearings. My adrenaline completely

spent, I lower the tote to the ground between my feet and peel off my sweatshirt. The humid summer

heatisalreadytrappedinthetunnel,alongwith thestenchof commuter sweat.

I walk hurriedly up to the street level to find a cab, past closed bakeries and newsstands. Outside the

EighthAvenue exit hookers and cab drivers await their next jobs while I let the puppy out on her string

leashtopeeby asweatinggarbagecan.

"Whereto?" thecabbieasksasI slideinbehindmybags.

"Second and Ninety-third," I say, rolling down the window. I root around in the plastic bags for my

wallet andherbrown furry

THE NANNY DIARIES

headpushesits wayout ofthetote,panting. "Nearlythere,little one.We'll betheresoon."

"Bethune?"heasks. "I thoughtyousaidUpperEast."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Ninety-third," I clarify.As I open my wallet Mrs. X's check flutters to the floor of the

cab. "Damn."I bendover toretrieveitinthedarkness.

"Paytotheorderof:Nanny.Five hundreddollars."

Five hundreddollars. Five hundreddollars?

Ten days. Sixteen hours a day. Twelve dollars an hour. So, that's like sixteen hundred dollars. o,

eighteenhundred. o,nineteenhundred!

FIVE HUNDREDDOLLARS!

"Wait, makethatseventwenty-one Park."

"Okay,lady."Hemakes a sharpU-turn. "You'repaying."

You havenoidea.

I unlock the Xes' front door and carefully push it open. The apartment is dark and silent. I put the tote

down and the puppy wriggles out of it as I drop the rest of my bags on the marble floor. "Pee

anywhere."

I reachforthedimmer on thehall switch, bathing thecenter tablein a tautcircle of light.Thespotlamp

poursbeautifulcoldripplesthroughthecut-crystal bowl.

I leanforward and rest myhands on the glass top thatprotects the brown velvet swags. Even now, even

as it's gotten this out of hand, I'm distracted from my thoughts of the Xes by the trappings of the Xes. Andreally,itstrikesme,isn't thatthepoint?

I pullbacktoseethetwoperfectpalmprintsI've leftontheglass.

Walking determinedly from room to room, I switch on the brass lamps, as if illuminating their home

will shedsomelightonhowI couldhaveworkedsohardandbeenhatedsomuch.

I openthedoortotheoffice.

MariahasstackedMrs. X'smailcarefully onherdeskjustthe

way she likes it ?envelopes, catalogs, and magazines each in separate piles. I riffle through them and

thenflipthepagesofhercalender.

. anicure. Pedicure. Shiatsu.Decorator. Lunch.?

"Vicepresidentinchargeofbullshit," I mutter.

. onday10amInterview: NanniesAreUs?

Interview? I flipquicklybackthroughthelastweeks.

. ay28:InterviewRosario. June2:InterviewInge. June8: InterviewMalong.?

They start the day after I said I couldn't make the drive to Nan-tucket because of my graduation. My

mouthgoesdry asI readthenotesscrawledinthemarginofthatafternoon.

. emember call problem consultant tomorrow. N. behavior is unacceptable. Completely self-

centered. Providing poor care. Has no respect for professional boundaries. Is taking complete

advantage.?

I close the book, feeling as if I've been punched in the solar plexus.An image flashes into my mind of

Mrs. Longacre's crocodile handbag resting by her feet under the stall partition in the bathroom of II

Cognilioandsomethingsnaps.

I head to Grayer's room, throw the door open, and see it immediately ?the stuffed bear that arrived on

Grayer's shelfafterValentine's Daywithoutexplanation.

I pull it down, flip it around, and pull the back panel off to reveal a small videotape and control buttons.

I rewindthetapewhile thepuppyracesacrosstheroomandintoGrayer's closet.

I press recordandplacethebearon topof Grayer's dresser,shiftingit arounduntil I thinkI've setupthe

shot.

"I'm completely self-centered?Mybehaviorisunacceptable?" I shoutatthebear.

I take a deep breath, trying to channel my rage and begin again. "Five hundred dollars. What is that to

you, a pair of shoes?A half day at Bliss? A flower arrangement? No way, lady. Now I know you were anartmajor,sothismightbe alittle complicatedforyou,butforten THE NANNY DIARIES 303

straightdays of unmitigated, torturoushell, youpaidme threedollarsanhour! So, beforeyouwrapup a year of mylife to be trottedout as an anecdote at the next museum benefit, keep in mind thatI am your ownpersonalsweatshop!You've got ahandbag, a mink,and asweatshop!

"AndI'm theonetakingadvantageof you?"

"You have. No idea. What I do. For you." I pace back and forth in front of the bear, trying to formulate ninemonthsofswallowed retortsintosomesortofcoherentmessage.

"Okaylisten up. If I say 'Two days a week,' your responseshouldbe 'Okay, two days a week.'If I say, 'I have to leave by three for class.' This means, wherever you are. ll those important manicures, those crucial lattes. ou drop and come runing, so thatI can leave. ot after dinner,not the next day, but at three o'clock, pronto. I say 'Sure, I can fix him a snack.' This means five minutes in your goddamn kitchen. This means microwave. This does not involve steaming, dicing, sauteing, or anything at all to do with a souffle. You said 'We'll pay you on Fridays.' Now listen, genius, this means every one. ast time I checkedyouwerenotCaesar,um,it's notup toyoutorewrite thecalendar. Every. Single.Week."

NowI am reallyrolling. "All right. lamming thedoor inyourchild's face:not okay. Lockingthedoor to keep your son out when we're all home: also not okay. Buying a studio in the building for 'private time' definitely not okay. Oh, oh, and here's one: umm, going to a spa when your son has an ear infection and fever of one hundred and four? News flash; this officially makes you, not just a bad person, but like, officially, a terrible mother. I don't know, I haven't birthed anyone, so I may not be an experthere, butif mykidwaspeeing all over thefurniturelike a senilefuckingdog. mm, I'd be just a tad bit concerned. I might, oh, you know, just on a whim, eat dinner with him at least one night a week. And, just a heads-up here, people hate you. The housekeeper hates you. he might-kill-you-in-your!sleep kindof hatesyou."

I slowdowntobesureshegetsevery word. "Nowlet's review:

thereI was. nnocentlystrolling throughthe park.I don't knowyou.Five minutes later,you've got me cleaning your underwear and going to 'Family Day' with your son. I mean, how do you get there, lady? I reallywanttoknow. ust wheredoyougettheballs toask a perfectstrangertobe asurrogatemother toyourkid?

"And you don't have a job! What do you do all day? Are you building a spaceship over there at the Parents League? Helping the mayor map out a new public transportation plan from a secret room at Bendel's? I know!Thinkingup a solutiontotheconflictintheMiddleEastfrombehindthelockeddoor ofyour bedroom! Well, youkeeprightonpluggingawaythere,lady. heworldcanhardlywait tohear how your innovations are going to launch us right into the twenty-first century with a discovery so fantasticthatyoucan't spare amoment togive yourson a hug."

I lean down and stare deeply into the bear's eyes. "There's been a lot of 'confusion,'so let me make this perfectly clearforyou: thisjob. hat's right,j-o-b, job. hatI've beendoingishardwork.Raisingyour childis hardwork!Whichyouwouldknowifyouever diditformorethanfive minutesat atime!"

I stand back and crack my knuckles, ready to take this all the way to the top. "And, Mr. X, who are you?" I pause to let that sink in. "And, while we're making introductions, you're probably wondering who I am. Here's a hint: I did not (a) come with the rental or (b) show up out of the goodness of my heart, asking your wife if she had any chores I could do around the house. What do ya think, X?wanna

take a guess?"

I lookatmynails,pausingdramatically foreffect.

"I'VE BEEN RAISINGYOUR SON! I've been teaching him how to talk. How to throw a ball. How to flushyourItalian toilet. I am not amed student, abusiness student,anactress, or a modeland I am in no shapeorform a 'friend'tothatcrackpotyoumarried.Orpurchasedor whatever."I shudderindisgust.

"Here's theupdate,big guy. This isnottheByzantineempire?

THE NANNY DIARIES

you do not get a camel and a harem with each plot of land. Where's the war you fought? Where's the despot you've overthrown? Making seven figures a year, with your fat ass in a chair, is not heroic and, while it may win you a trophy wife or two, or five, it most definitely does not qualify you for the door prize of fatherhood! I'll tryto put this into terms you can understand:your sonis not an accessory.Your wife did not order him from a catalog. You cannot trot him out when it suits you and then store him in thebasementwith yourcigars."

I pause to catch my breath, looking around at all the toys he's paid for and never once enjoyed with his son. "Therearepeople. nyourhome. uman beings. rowningintheirdesireforyoutolookthemin theeye.You madethisfamily.And all youhavetodoisshowup andlikethem. It's called 're-la-ting.' So get over whatever totally-absent-buying-your-affection parenting that you received and get here, man. ecausethisis yourLIFE andyou're justpissing itaway!" "Woof!"

Thepuppypushes thecloset door open, grippingthe bus-pass holder in her mouth. "Hey,give me that," I say gently, kneeling down to take it from her. She drops it, rolling onto her back to play. I stare at the dirty shredsof paperinsidetheplastic, all thatremains ofGrove's businesscard.

I blink, looking around Grayer's room, so familiar to me that it feels like my own. I see him sashaying down the imaginary runway of our Christmas fashion show, wassailing his heart out in the bathroom, fallingasleepagainstme asI finishGoodnightMoon.

"Oh, Grover." And then I am crying, curled tight in a ball by the foot of his bed. Waves of sobs rack through me at the fresh realization that I will never see him again. That this is it for us, Grayer and me. WhenI'm finally able tocatch mybreath, I crawl over tothe dresser andpress stop. I setthebearon the floor, leaning against Grayer's bed as I gently rub the puppy's soft belly. She stretches out, resting her pawonmyarm,her warmeyes soappreciativeoftheattention.

AndthenI know.

NothingI've saidsofarwill makethemlovehimthewayheneedstobeloved.

Orallowmetoleavewith anygrace.

I hearGrayer: "Besmart, Nanny.You'll besmart."

I rewindthetapebacktothebeginning.I press recordandreturnthebeartothecarpetinfrontofme.

"Hi. It's Nanny. I'm here in your apartmentand it's..." I glancedown atmywatch. "Five in themorning. I entered with the key you gave me. And I have all those possessions you value so highly within arm's reach.Buthere's thething.I justdon't wish youharm. If fornoother reasonthanyouhavetheprofound privilege of being Grayer's parents." I nod, knowing it to be true. "So I was just going to leave. But I can't. I really can't. Grayer loves you. I havebornewitness tohis love for you.And hedoesn't care what you're wearing or what you've bought him. He just wants you there. Wanting him. And time is running out. Hewon't loveyouunconditionallythatmuchlonger.Andsoonhewon't love youatall. Soifthere's one thing I could do for you tonight, it would be to give you the desire to know him. He's such an amazing little person. e's funny and smart. joy to be with. I really cherished him. And I want that foryou.For bothofyou,becauseit's just,well,priceless."

I reach out for the bear and press stop. I hold it in my hands for a moment. Looking over at the bottom shelfof thebookcase,I see asmall framedpictureofCaitlin tuckedbehindthePlayskoolgarage.

Right.

I hit recordandplopthebearbackdown.

"And if not, then at the very least you owe me, and whoever else you bamboozle into doing it, some fuckingrespect!"

I pickup thebearandejectthetape.

THE NANNY DIARIES

Wending my way back to the front hall, I turn off all the lights as I go. The puppy comes scampering into the foyer as I stand over the glass table once again. I set the tape down in between my palm prints andresttheirhousekeys ontopofitswhite label.

I pickup mybagsandpullopentheXes'frontdoorforthelasttime.

"Grover," I say quietly, willing with all my heart, as if I were standing over my birthday cake, making the most important wish of my life. "Just know that you are wonderful. abulously wonderful. And I hope somehow you'll know that I'll always be out here rooting for you, okay?" I flick the last light off andscoopupthepuppy. "Good-bye, Grayer."

The sun is just coming up as I lead her into the park. She pulls her string leash taut as we walk up the bridle path to the reservoir. The first joggers are already making their steady orbit around the water as the sky brightens and the last star disappears. Over the treetops the buildings framing the western skylinearebathedinthepinkdawn.

The water laps against the stones as I stand against the wire fence, taking in the beauty of this open vista inthecenterofthecity.

I reach into one of the bags and pull out the Xes' cell phone. I take a moment to feel its weight in my hand before lobbing it over the fence. She jumps up to press her front paws against the wire, barking as itmakes a satisfying splash.

I look down at her. "How do you like that for leaving with grace?" She barks in agreement, tilting her headupatme,herbrowneyes lookingaffectionatelyintomine.

"Grace."

Shebarks.

"Grace,"I sayagain.

Shebarksagain.

"I see.Well, then,Grace,let's gohome."

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

We wish to thank: Molly Friedrich and Lucy Childs of the Aaron Priest Literary Agency for their unflagging support. hould Nanny ever have to go head-to-head with Mrs. X, these are the women we'd want behind her! Christy Fletcher for seeing the potential. Jennifer Weis for letting us know when there was no there there. Katie Brandi for reading this book almost as many times as we have. Joel for taking Nanny on the honeymoon. George for keeping us going on the tough days, and Le Pain Quotidienforthesupplies.

Table of Contents

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER THREE

PART TWO

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

PART THREE

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE