The Nanny Diaries Part 4

"She saidI havetouse moretoothpaste."

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

"Hepicks his nose."

"AlexKushman?"

"She spitsKool-Aid."Hecracks.h.i.+mself up.

I sigh, looking out across the crowded courtyard. Somewhere in this chaos is another pair who shares our plan. I get a flash of us?airport-reception style. e in a chauffeur's cap, Grayer on my shoulders, holding abigsignthatsays "ALEX."

"Hi, I'm Murnel."An older, uniformed woman appears before us. "This isAlex. Sorry, we had a bit of troubletearingourselves away from the blue goop." I notice some of it still clinging to her nylon jacket. "Alex, say h.e.l.lo to Grayer,"shesaysin athickWestIndianaccent.

Afterproperintroductionswepushour chargesover toFifthAvenue. Like little oldmen inwheelchairs, theyrelaxbackintheirseats,lookaboutandoccasionallyconverse. "MyPowerRangerhas a subatomic machinegunandcancutyourPower Ranger's headoff."

Murnel and I are comparatively quiet. Despite the fact that we share the same job t.i.tle, in her eyes I probably have more in common with Grayer, as there are at least fifteen years and a long subway ride fromtheBronxbetweenus.

"Howlongyoubeentakingcareof him?" Shenods downinthedirectionof Grayer's stroller.

"Amonth.Howaboutyou?"

"Oh, nearly three years now. My daughter looks after Alex's cousin, Benson, up on Seventy-second.

You knowBenson?"sheinquires.

"I don't thinkso.Isheis intheir cla.s.s?"

"Benson's a girl." We bothlaugh."Andshegoestoschoolacross thepark.Howoldareyou?"

"Just turnedtwenty-one inAugust."I smile.

"Ooh, you're my son's age. I should introduce you. He's real smart, just opened his own diner out by LaGuardia.You got aboyfriend?"

"Nope, haven't met one lately who isn't more trouble than he's worth," I say. She nods in agreement.

"Thatmust notbeaneasythingtodo. pen a restaurant,I mean."

"Well, he's a real hard worker. Gets it from his mother," she says proudly, bending over to pick up the drainedjuiceboxAlexhas tossedintothestreet. "Mygrandson's hardworking,too,andhe's only seven.

He's doingrealwell inhiscla.s.ses."

"That's great."

"My neighbor always says he's so good about doing his homework. he stays with him in the afternoonstillmydaughtercangethome fromBenson,roundnine,usually."

"Nanny!I wantmorejuice!"

"Please,"I say, reachingintothestrollerbag.

"Please,"Grayermumbles asI pa.s.s.h.i.+m asecondjuicebox.

"Thankyou,"I correcthimandMurnelandI exchangesmiles.

I'm thelast of our crew towalkthroughAlex's front door. Thereis very little in this neighborhoodthatI haven't seen, but I'm completely unpreparedfor the large strip of duct tape runningdown the middle of thefronthall.

According to New York State law, if one spouse moves out the other can claim abandonment and will most likely get the apartment. Some of these places go for fifteen to twenty million, forcing years of bitter cohabitation while each spouse tries to wear down the other by, for example, bringing in their half-nakedexerciseinstructor/lover tolive.

"Okay, now you boys can play anywhere on that side," she says, gesturing to the left side of the apartment.

"Nanny, why is there a stripe? I fix Grayer with a quick Look of Death as I unbuckle his stroller and thenwait untilAlex isbehindme toraisemyfingertomylipsandpointtothetape.

"Alex's mommy anddaddyareplaying a game,"I whisper. "We'll talkabout.i.tathome."

"Mydad's notsharing,"Alexannounces.

"Now who wants grilled cheese?Alex, go show Grayer your new photongun,"Murnel says as theboys run off. Sheturns towardthekitchen. "Makeyourself athome," shesays, rollingher eyes atthetape.

I wanderintotheliving room,whichis fauxLouisXIV meetsJackieCollins,with anice,wide stripeof electrical tapedownthemiddletogiveit thatcertainjenesaisquoi. I sitdownonwhatI hope is the Switzerland area of the couch and instantly recognize the work of Antonio. He's the a.s.sistant to one of the most popular decorators and will, for a minor consideration, pop by frequently to "plump"

yourpillows. Heis,inessence, a professionalpillow plumper.

I trytoheavethetwenty-pound copyofTuscanHomes,thecurrentcoffeetablebookof choice,intomy lap without bruising myself.After a few minutes of flipping through pictures of villas, I become aware of a littlenoserestingonthearmof thecouch."Hey,"I quietlyacknowledgethenose.

"Hey," he replies, coming around the couch to slump face-first onto the cus.h.i.+on next to me, his arms outstretched.

"What's thestory?" I ask, lookingdownathis back,sosmall againstthewide blackvelvet stripes.

"I wa.s.supposedtobringmytoys."

"Huh."

He climbs up into my lap, snuggling under Tuscan Homes, and helps me turn pages. I feel the softness of his hair under my chin and give his ankle a gentle squeeze. I'm not feeling incredibly motivated to getthis playdatebackontrack.

"Lunch!" we hear called from behind us. "What are you all doing in there? Alex!" Murnel calls off towardhis room. We standup.

"I forgottobringmytoys," Grayer offers. Murnelputsherhandsonherhips.

"That boy. Come on, Grayer, we'll get this straightened out." Grayer and I follow her past the kitchen where something is buzzing loudly. "Hold on, hold on," she says with a sigh. She goes directly to the intercom, asmall boxabove atrayladenwith grilled-cheesesandwichesandslicedfruit.

Shepressestheb.u.t.ton. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Hasthemotherf.u.c.kercalled?" awoman's voice cracklesoutof thewall.

"No,ma'am."

"G.o.ddammit! Eversincehefrozemyf.u.c.kingcardsI'm supposed to get a f.u.c.king check. How hard is that? I mean, how am I supposed to feed Alex? f.u.c.ker. Did you pickup myLaMer?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Murnel picks up the tray and we follow her silently down toAlex's room. I am the last one in. Half the room is completely bare, a line of model cars down the middle serving as impromptu duct tape, and Alex, s.h.i.+rtless and shoeless, paces in front of a stockpile of all his earthly possessions. He halts and looksupatus.

"I toldthef.u.c.kerhehastobringhis owntoys."

Nanny, Please call the caterers and double-check what kind of utensils and linens they. l be bringing forMrXparty. Pleaseseethattheydropoff all thelinensinadvancesoConniecanrewashthem.

Grayer has his St David. interview today, after which I. l be running to a meeting with the florsi. SoMrXwilldrivebyanddropGrayerofftoyouatprecisely1:45ontheNorth-Westcornerof Ninety-fifthandPark.

Please be sure to be standing as close to the curb as possible so that the driver can see you. Please get there by 1:30 just in case they. e early. I. sure this goes without saying, but Mr X shouldnot havetogetoutof the car.

In themeantime, I. l needyoutostarta.s.semblying thefollowingitems forthegiftbags.

Exceptforthechampagne,youshouldbeabletofindmost of theseatGraciousHome.

AnnickGoutalSoap Piper Heidsieck,small bottle Morroccoleathtertravelpictureframe,redorgreen MontBlanc pen?small LAVENDARWATER.

Seeyouat6!

I reread the note, wondering if I'm supposed to pull out my magic decoder ring to figure out how many of eachitemshewantsmetobuy.

She doesn't answer her cell, so I decide to call Mr. X's office after getting his number off the phone list postedinsidethepantrydoor.

"What?" heanswers after onering.

"Urn, Mr. X,it's Nanny?

"Who?Howdidyougetthis number?"

"Nanny. I lookafter Grayer?

"Who?"

Unsure how to clarify without seeming impertinent, I barrel on. "Your wife wants me to pick up the stuffforthegiftbaskets fortheparty?

"Whatparty?Whattheh.e.l.lareyoutalkingabout?Whoisthis?"

"Onthetwenty-eighth? For theChicagopeople?"

"Mywife toldyoutocall me?" Hesoundsangry.

"No.I justneededtoknowhowmanypeoplearecoming andI couldn't?

"Oh,forcrissake."

Myearfillswith dial tone.

Right.

I walk over to Third, trying to figure out how many of each thing I'm I supposed to buy, as if it were a logic puzzle. It's a sit-down dinner, so it ) can't be a ton of people, but it must be more than, say, eight, or so, if she's having caterers and renting tables. I think she's renting three tables j and they probably seatsix or eight each, so that'll be eighteen or twenty-1 four $? either I show up empty-handed tonight or I pick a number. I Twelve.

I stoP *nfrontof theliquorstore. Twelve. Thatfeelsright.

I lu^ tt16 twelve bottles of Piper Heidsieckto GraciousHome, a -1 housewa?es store, whose twoinitial branches are bizarrely right across I Third A^611116 fr. each other. They carry everything from luxury: items atluxuryprices toeveryday householditems atluxury prices. 1All so a woman canwalk in, buy a ten-dollar bottle of cleanser, and 1 walk out with a cute shopping bag, feeling as if she's had somefun.

I staft pulling out picture frames and clearing out all their soap, but ?? I have nO idea what or where lavenderwateris. I lookdownatthelist.

.Like theotherwomen I've workedfor,I'm sure she used all caps without thinking, threw the underline in as an afterthought' but, to me, she's screaming. It's as if, suddenly,her life de-pends on LAVENDERWATER or MILK or EDAMAME. I'm tempted to put mV hands up to my ears as their heads rise out of the notepaper, like something from Terminator2, screaming, "CLORQXfI f /.'/.'"

I cofnrnence combing the shelves in pursuit of lavender water and find that Caswell-Ma.s.sey only makes freesia water, but she definitely wanted lavender. Crabtree and Evelyn have lavender drawer liners, but that's clearly not it. Roger and Gallet make a lavendef soaP an^ Rigaud, I'm informed, "doesn't do lavender."Then finally, on the very bottom shelf of another wall, with Grayer scheduled to drop and roll out of the town car in exactly five minutes, I see The Thymes Limited Lavender Home FragranceMist,Parfum d'Ambiance.Thishas gottobeit; it's the onlywatery-type lavenderythinghere. I'll take it. Makethattwelve.

Nanny, I. not sure where I gave you the impression that it was appropriate for you to bother my husband. I spoke with him and we. e setting you up with a cell phone, so the net time you. e in doubt we. appreciateitif youjustcall me. JustineatMrX. officewillgiveyouthecorrectheadcount. But.i.twilldefinitelybecloserto thirtythantwelve. Also, please find a moment today to exchange whatever you bought yesterday for Lavender LinenWaterbyL. ccitane. (We onlyneedonebottleasit. a cleaningtool,not a partyfavor) "Hi,Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm talkingtoyouon acellphone. Know why?"

"'Causeyou're oneof themnow?"

"No. Because I'm so not one of them I can't be trusted to perform even the simplest task, say, pick out lavenderwater."

"Lavender what?"

"You pouritinyour ironanditmakesyourrentedtableclothssmell likethesouthof France."

"Useful."

"AndI am beingmadetofeelincompetentover thiswh?"

"Bud?"

"Yeah?"

"Nocomplaining fromthecute-girl-with-her-own-cell-phone."

"Fiiine."

"Love ya. Bye."

The girl with her own cell phone calls her best friend, Sarah, at Wesleyan. "Hi, you've reached Sarah, impressme. Beep?

"Hey,it's me.Atthis verymoment 1 am walking downthestreet andtalkingtoyou.Just like1 couldon a train, a boat, or even from the makeup floor at Barneys, because ... 1 got a cell phone. She gave me a cellphone!See,that's not aperkyouget as a professor's a.s.sistant. Bye!"

ThenI ringGrandma. "SorryI'm notheretochat,b.u.t.tellmesomethingfabulousanyway. Beep?

"Hi, Gran, c'est moi. I'm out on the street talking to you on mybrand-new cell phone. Now all I need is a Donna Karan bikini and we can hit the Hamptons. Woohoo! Talk to you later! Bye!" And then home tocheckmymessages. "h.e.l.lo?" myroommate's voice answers. "Charlene?" I ask. "Yes?"

"Oh,I wasjustcalling tocheckmymessages.""You don't haveany."

"Oh,okay,thanks.Guesswhat?I'm onmynewcellphone!Shegaveme a cellphone!"