The Nanny Diaries Part 22

"h.e.l.lo?" anEnglishvoice saysfromtheintercom.

"Hi! It's Nanny and Grayer." There's no reply. I reach over and press the talk b.u.t.ton again. "We have a playdatewith Carter."

"Really?"There's a pause. "Well,come on up, then."ThebuzzersoundsandI pushtheheavygla.s.s door open, while Grayer stumbles aheadof me intothemarble entrancefoyer. Past thegrandstaircase, atthe back of house, is a solarium, whose long windows reveal a garden. Raindrops steadily fill the stone fountain.

"h.e.l.lo?" a young voice asks. I look up from where I'm wrestling Grayer's coat zipper. A little boy Grayer's age with blond, curly hair is standing on the landing, his hand looped through the banister, leaning away on a diagonal. "Hi. I'm Carter." I've never seen this boy before and realize Grayer hasn't, either.

"I'm Grayer."

"h.e.l.lo?" The same English voice calls down the stairs. "Just leave your gear anywhere and come on up."I throwourwet coatsontheflooranddrop ourgearbesideit.

"Go ahead, G." He runs up after Carter. I begin my ascent; on the first floor I pa.s.s a Venetian living roomatthefrontofthehouseand a Decodiningroomattheback.AsI reachthesecondfloor,featuring the Empire master bedroom and a man's study done in the African vein, lots of antelope heads and a zebra-skin rug, I'm audibly panting. I chug up to the third level, which has a large mural of Winnie-the!Poohpaintedonthelanding,andI'm guessingitisCarter's floor.

"Keepgoing!" I hearencouragementbeingshoutedfromabove.

"You're almost there,Nanny! Lazy!"

"Thanks, G!" I call up. I finally drag myself, sweating, to the fourth floor, which has been opened up into alargefamily roomc.u.mkitchen.

"Hi,I'm Lizzie. Stairs abit much,eh?Wantsomewater?"

"That would be lovely. I'm Nanny." I extend the hand that isn't clutching my abdomen. She's maybe a few years older than me, wearing a gray flannel skirt, sky-blue oxford s.h.i.+rt, and a navy cardigan tied aroundher shoulders. I recognizeher aspartof thecommunityofhigh-cla.s.s Britis.h.i.+mports wh.o.r.egard this as a n.o.ble profession, requiring training and certification, and they dress accordingly. The boys have already run off to the corner, where a village of plastic Playskool houses are set up, to play what soundslikeSacktheSerfs.

"Here." Lizzie hands me the water. "I thought we'd just let them blow off steam for an hour and then plunktheminfrontofTheJ-u-n-g-l-e B'O-O'k"

"Soundsgreat."

"I don't knowwhatI'm goingtodowhenCarterlearnshowtospell. Learnsignlanguage,I guess."

I stare at the rococ.o.kitchen cabinets, the distressed French tiles, the egg and dart moldings. "This is an amazing house. Doyou live in?"

"I have alittleflatonthetopfloor."I lookover atthestairsandrealizethat,yes,thereisanotherfloor.

"You mustbeinamazing shape."

"Trydoingitwith a knackeredfour-year-oldinyourarms."

Ilaugh. "I'venevermetCarterbefore.Wheredoeshegoto 1 school?"

"CountryDay,"shesays,takingmyemptygla.s.s.

"Oh,I usedtolookafter theGleasongirls ?theywentthere. It's a niceplace."

"Yeah?Carter,getoffhim!" I lookover justasGrayerisreleased from a deathgrip.

"Wow, Carter,how'd youdothat?Showme,showme!" Grayer's eyes arealightatthediscovery.

"Oh,great," I say. "Nowhe'll beleapingouttoputme in a chokehold."

"A swift kick to the groin and they're down in no time," she says, winking at me. Where has she been thiswholeyear? I couldhavehad a playgroundbuddy. "Hey,youwanttoseetheterrace?"

"Sure." I follow her out to a stone balcony overlooking the garden and the back of the brownstones on theothersideoftheblock.We standundertheawningastherainsplattersthetipsofour shoes.

"It's beautiful,"I say, mybreathcoming inlittlepuffsof vapor. "It's arealnineteenth-centuryenclave."

Shenods. "Cigarette?" sheasks.

"You cansmoke?"

"Sure."

"Carter's momdoesn't mind?"

"Please."I takeone.

"So,howlonghaveyoubeenworkinghere?" I ask a.s.shestrikesthematch.

"About a year. It's a little nuts, but compared to the other jobs I've had.... I mean, when you live in, you know." She shakes her head, blowing smoke into the drizzle. "They run your life while you live in a closet off the kitchen.At least here I've got a great s.p.a.ce. Those round windows?" She points with her cigarette. "That's my bedroom and that, there, is my sitting room. And my bath has a Jacuzzi. It was meanttobe aguestsuite,but,well,guestsare a littleoutofthequestion."

"Wow. Not a baddeal."

"Well, it's full-time duty."

"Are theynice?"

She starts laughing. "I guess he's not bad. e's never really around, which makes her a bit off her rocker.That's whytheyneeded alive-in?

"Yoo-hoo! Lizzie!Are you outthere?" I freeze,trying not to exhale, a tinytrail of smoke escapingfrom mynostrils.

"Yeah, Mrs. Milton. We're outside." She casually stubs out her cigarette on the bal.u.s.trade and throws it intothegarden.I shrugandfollowsuit. "There you are!" she says as we come back into the kitchen. Mrs. Milton, a Matel blonde, sits on the floorin a peach-silk robe,sniffinganddelicately wiping hernose, while theboys runaround her. "Now, who's this?" Her voice has a slight Southern lilt. "That's Grayer," Lizzie says. "And I'm Nanny." I extendmyhand.

"Oh, Grayer! Grayer, I saw your momma at Swifty's. Well, every time we're at Lotte Berk we keep sayingwehavetoget ourboys together.Andthenthereshewashavinglunchandwe said,well,wejust have to make a plan, and here you are! Grayer!" She picks him up and holds him upside down, in fluffy mules, no less. Grayer seems to be trying to make eye contact with me, clearly uncertain how to respond to this outpouring of affection. She puts him down. "Lizzie! Lizzie, darlin', don't you have a datetonight?" "Yeah,but?

"Shouldn't youbegettingready?" "It's onlyfour."

"Nonsense. Go relax. I want to spend some time with my Carter. Besides, Nanny can help me." She hunkersdown. "Hey,boys, youwannamake a cake?We havecakemix,right,Lizzie?" "Always."

"Great!" Her silk robe billows out behind her as she crosses to the kitchen, revealing long, tanned, and very nakedlegs. I realize as she turns that she is completely au naturel beneath her robe. "Now,let's see ... eggs... milk."Shepullseverything outandsets itonthecounter. "Lizzie, wherearethepans?"

"In thedrawer undertheoven." Shegrabs mywrist andwhis!

pers, "Don't let her burn herself." Before I have chanceto ask if and whythis is likely she's run upstairs toherroom.

"I likechocolatecake,"Grayer says,castinghis vote.

"We only havevanilla, sugar." Mrs. Miltonholds uptheredbox.

"I likevanilla," says Carter.

"At mybirthday,"Grayer continues, "I had acake. It lookedlike a footballanditwasreallyreally big!"

"Woohoo! Let's have some music." She pushes a b.u.t.ton on the Bang & Olufsen stereo above the counter and Donna Summer comes blaring out. "Come on, sugar pie. Come and dance with Momma." Carter shakes his arms and bobs his knees. Grayer starts off slowly with a head wiggle, but by "On the Radio"helets thejazzhandsfly.

"Lookin' good, boys!" She takes a hand of each and the three of them bounce through all of Donna Summer's Greatest Hits right up through "She Works Hard for the Money," while I quietly start cracking eggs and greasing the pan. I put the cake in the oven and turn around in search of an oven timer,toseeMrs. Miltontwirling nearthePlayskool village. I have a MissClavel feeling.

"I'm just going to go use the powder room," I say to no one in particular. I open every door off the pantry,attempting tolocate abathroom.

Turningonthelightin a small room,I discover fourmannequinsin aVconfigurationwearingsequined gowns, each with a banner across her middle. Miss Tucson. Miss Arizona. Miss Southwest. Miss Southern States. There are tiaras and scepters, framed news clippings and a baton, all carefully displayed ingla.s.s cases.

I slowly inspect every dress, each sash, and then go over to the far wall, which is covered in glossy, framed photographs of Mrs. Milton. he Vegas showgirl. Which, I guess, is where you go after being Miss Southern States. There is row after row of photographs of her in various sequined costumes and headdresses,wearingthick THE NANNY DIARIES makeup and false lashes. In each she's sitting on some celebrity's lap, everyone from Tony Bennett to Rod Stewart. And then 1 see it, halfway down the wall, almost hidden, a snapshot of Mrs. Milton in a short, skintight white dress, Mr. Milton, his eyes rolled back in his head, and the preacher. The caption ontheframe reads, "TheAil-Night ChapelofLove,August12,199-."

I turnoutthelightandfindthebathroom.

WhenI come backoutMrs. Miltonis peeringforlornlyinthe oven.

"You didit."

"Yes, ma'am." I justsaid "ma'am."

"You didit."Sheseems tobehaving troubleabsorbingthe information.

"It's almost done,"I offerrea.s.suringly.

"Oh, goodie! Who wants frosting?" She pulls six tubs of different-flavored frosting out of the fridge.

"Carter, get the food dye." Grayer and Carter mambo over. She grabs sprinkles, silver b.a.l.l.s, and candy confetti from the cupboards and starts squirting the food dye Carter hands her directly into the tubs. "Ooohwee!" She's laughinguncontrollablynow.

"Mrs. Milton,"1 say, standingbackwith apprehension, "I think it's timeforGrayer andmetogo."

"Tina!"

"I begyourpardon?"

"CallmeTina!You can't leave," shecalls over her shouldera.s.shescoops a fingerfulof frostingintoher mouth.

"1 DON'T WANT TO GO HOME!" Grayer panics, his fists tightly clenching a bouquet of plastic spoons.

"See, n.o.body has to leave. Now, who ... wants ... frosting?" She reaches into two of the containers, pullingouttwo handfulsoffrostingandcatapultingthem, oneatCarter,oneatGrayer. "Frosting fight!" She hands a tub to each boy and the frosting starts flying. I try to duck behind the island, but Tina hits me squarelyacrossthe chest. I haven't been in a food fight since middle school, but I grab a tub of pink and fling a small handfulather. ustpaying herbackforthesweater. ndthenI'm out.

"Ooh-hah!" They are laughing hysterically. The boys roll on the floor, mus.h.i.+ng frosting in each other's hair. Tinagrabssomesilver b.a.l.l.s andsprinklesthemover theboys likesnow.

"What's goingondownthere?" Lizzie's sternEnglishvoicecalls fromupstairs.

"Ooh, we're in trouble," she says. "Carter, I think we're in trouble." They all crack up again. Lizzie comes intothekitcheninherterry bathrobeandslippers.

"Oh, my G.o.d." She looks around. There is frosting everywhere, dripping off the French tiles and the topiariesliningthewindow.

"Oh,Lizzie,wewere justhavingfun.Loosenup!Don't besoBritish."

"Tina!" Lizzie uses myWickedWitchvoice. "Goget inthetub!"Tinalookscrestfallenandstartsto cry, sinkinginherrobeandrevealing a bittoomuchof herimpressive superstructure.

"ButI...We were ... We were justhaving fun.Pleasedon't tellJohn.You hadfun,didn't you,boys?"

"I had fun. Don't be sad." Grayer gently touches her head, patting bits of pink frosting into her blonde hair.

Tina looks at Lizzie and wipes her nose on her sleeve. "Okay, okay." She hunkers in front of the boys. "Mommy's gonna go take a bath, okay?" She pats each one on the head and then walks over to the banister. "You come back real soon, Grayer, you hear?" she murmurs to herself as she disappears down thestairs.

"Good-bye, Tina!" Grayer shouts. And with a little backward wave she's gone. I wait for Carter to protest, but he's quiet. We strip theboys and Lizzie gives me a pair of Carter's pajamas and a plastic bag forGrayer's clothes.We putonThejungleBookandtrytocleanupthekitchen.

"Dammit," Lizzie says, scrubbingon her hands andknees. "Mr. Milton mightcome home tonightand if he sees this he'll send her back to Hazelden and it's terrible for Carter, her disappearing for weeks at a time when his father travels so much. It absolutely devastates him." Lizzie wrings out the sponge. "He askedme togo with her. oHazelden.SoI could,you know,figureout whenshewoulduseagainand intervene."

"What's she on?" 1 ask, though I already have a pretty good idea. "c.o.ke. Alcohol. Prescription stuff whenshecan't sleep." "Howlonghasthisbeengoingonfor?"

"Oh, years," she says, squeezing out her sponge into the bucket. "I think since she came to New York. She fell in with some really posh junkies, celebrities and the like. He leaves her alone here all the time, so it's hard for her. But there's no prenup, soI guess he's just waiting for her to OD." Well, this certainly putspantiesinperspective. "I knowI shouldquit, butmyvisa extensionis attachedtothisjob.If I leave Carter it means going home and I really want to stay in America." I just wring out my sponge, not knowingwhatto say. "Here,whydon't youguys pushoff? I'll finishthis." "You sure?"

"Oh, yeah.Tomorrow it'll be something else." Grayer and Carter are loath to be parted, but we manage toget all thewaydownstairs andoutthedoor.

"Good-bye, Carter!" he shouts as I hail a cab. "Good-bye, Tina!" Since we're only going four blocks it seems ridiculous, but in addition to everything I was carrying before, I'm now sporting a plastic bag of Grayer's clothesandmyraincoatin a shoppingbagsomysweaterdoesn't shedsprinklesonit.

"Whathappenedtoyouall?" James asksashehelpsusoutof thetaxi.

"We got in a foodfightwithTina,"Grayer explainsashepads aheadof meinCarter'sTiggerpajamas.

21 1.

Upstairs I turn on the bathwater and put some tofu dogs on the stove while Grover plays in his room.

"h.e.l.lo?" a strangevoicecalls fromthemaid's room.

"h.e.l.lo?"

A woman I've never seenbeforeemergesfromthedarkness,wearingConnie's uniform.

"h.e.l.lo, I'm Maria," she says in a South American accent. "I was waiting for Mrs. X and must have fallenasleep.I didn't wanttojustleaveonmyfirstdaywithoutsayinggood-bye."

"Oh ... hi. Hi, I'm Nanny. I take care of Grayer." I introduce myself for the third time today. "Actually, Mrs. X is out to dinner and probably won't be back till late.You go on home and I'll tell her you waited whenshegets back."

"Oh,great.Thanks."

"Wh.o.a.reyou?" Grover standsblockingthedoorwayinhisbriefs.

"Grayer, this is Maria." Grayer sticks his tongue out, turns and runs back to his room. "Grayer" I turn back toher to apologize. "I'm sorry. Please don't takeit personally. He's had a reallylong day."I gesture tomyb.u.t.tercreamsoddenselfwith ahalf-smile. "ActuallyI wasjustgonnagogive himhis bath.Really, it's okaytoleave. Nottoworry."

"Thanks,"shesays,foldingher coatover herarm.

"No problem. See you tomorrow." I smile at her. I walk through the apartment, turning on lamps Conniecleanedonlytwodays ago.

I go into Grayer's room, where he's still dancing in his underwear in front of his closet mirror. "Come on,Baryshnikov."I plunkhiminthebath.