Night Film

2

Twenty minutes later, I let myself into my apartment at 30 Perry Street.

“I said I had to be out of here by nine,” a voice announced behind me as I closed the door. “It’s after one. What the hell?”

Her name was Jeannie, but no sane man would ever dream of her.

Two weekends a month when I had legal visitation with my five-year-old daughter, Samantha, my ex-wife, in an eighteen-year two-for-one promotion, decreed it compulsory I also take custody of Jeannie, the nanny. She was a twenty-four-year-old Yale graduate studying education at Columbia and clearly relished her powerful position as the designated bodyguard, the private escort, the Blackwater detail for Sam whenever she ventured into my dangerous custody. In this equation, I was the unstable Third World nation with a corrupt government, substandard infrastructure, rebel unrest, and an economy in free-fall.

“I’m sorry,” I said, throwing my jacket over the chair. “I lost track of time. Where’s Sam?”

“Asleep.”

“Did you find her cloud pajamas?”

“No. I was supposed to be at a study group four hours ago.”

“I’ll pay you double, so you can hire a tutor.” I took out my wallet, handed Jeannie about five hundred bucks, which she happily zipped into her backpack, and then I moved deliberately around her, heading down the hall.

“Oh, and Mr. McGrath? Cynthia wanted to know if she could switch weekends with you next weekend.”

I stopped outside the closed door at the end, turning back.

“Why?”

“She and Bruce are going to Santa Barbara.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I made plans. We’ll stick to the schedule.”

“But they already made the arrangements.”

“They can unmake them.”

Jeannie opened her mouth to protest, but clamped it shut — sensing, quite rightly, that the territory between two people who were once soul mates but were no longer was akin to wandering into Pakistan’s tribal region.

“She’s gonna call you about it,” she noted quietly.

“Good night, Jeannie.”

With a dubious sigh, she let herself out. I entered my office, switched on the desk lamp, and nudged the door closed behind me.

Santa Barbara, my ass.