Holly Peterson - The Manny

For Rick My life source.

Cover

Title Page HOLLY PETERSON The Manny

Dedication Dedication Dedication Chapter One: Wheels Up! Chapter Two: Morning Sickness Chapter Three: The Waffle Chapter Four: Everyone Knows That Chapter Five: Is There a Manny in the House? Chapter Six: Time to Talk Turkey Chapter Seven: The Manny Makes his Debut Chapter Eight: Nannies Are So Much Simpler than Mannies Chapter Nine: Exposed! Chapter Ten: Wherefore Art There, Fabio? Chapter Eleven: Rotten Eggs Chapter Twelve: The Big ‘Get’: Be Careful What You Go For Chapter Thirteen: Backstage Sitters Chapter Fourteen: Kidnapped! Chapter Fifteen: Boundaries, Boundaries Chapter Sixteen: Sartorial Situations Chapter Seventeen: A Job Well Done Entr’acte I Chapter Eighteen: That Whole Style Thing Chapter Nineteen: Say it Ain’t So Chapter Twenty: More than just a Manny Chapter Twenty-One: Winter White-out Chapter Twenty-Two: Table Talk Chapter Twenty-Three: Day of Reckoning Chapter Twenty-Four: The Other Side of the Tracks Chapter Twenty-Five: Clashing Cultures Chapter Twenty-Six: Epic Snow Job Chapter Twenty-Seven: Wrong Week to Stop Sniffing Glue Chapter Twenty-Eight: Morse Code for Big Trouble Chapter Twenty-Nine: Cool-Down Period Chapter Thirty: Hold on to Your Birthday Hats Chapter Thirty-One: The Boudreaux Bombshell Chapter Thirty-Two: Wild Life Chapter Thirty-Three: A Funny Thing Called Fear Chapter Thirty-Four: The Belle of the Ball Chapter Thirty-Five: Grown-up Time-out Entra’acte II Chapter Thirty-Six: Return Engagement Chapter Thirty-Seven: Rude Awakening Chapter Thirty-Eight: Resolution Acknowledgements About the Author Praise Copyright About the Publisher For Rick My life source.

Chapter One: Wheels Up!

Chapter Two: Morning Sickness

Chapter Three: The Waffle

Chapter Four: Everyone Knows That

Chapter Five: Is There a Manny in the House?

Chapter Six: Time to Talk Turkey

Chapter Seven: The Manny Makes his Debut

Chapter Eight: Nannies Are So Much Simpler than Mannies

Chapter Nine: Exposed!

Chapter Ten: Wherefore Art There, Fabio?

Chapter Eleven: Rotten Eggs

Chapter Twelve: The Big ‘Get’: Be Careful What You Go For

Chapter Thirteen: Backstage Sitters

Chapter Fourteen: Kidnapped!

Chapter Fifteen: Boundaries, Boundaries

Chapter Sixteen: Sartorial Situations

Chapter Seventeen: A Job Well Done

Entr’acte I

Chapter Eighteen: That Whole Style Thing

Chapter Nineteen: Say it Ain’t So

Chapter Twenty: More than just a Manny

Chapter Twenty-One: Winter White-out

Chapter Twenty-Two: Table Talk

Chapter Twenty-Three: Day of Reckoning

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Other Side of the Tracks

Chapter Twenty-Five: Clashing Cultures

Chapter Twenty-Six: Epic Snow Job

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Wrong Week to Stop Sniffing Glue

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Morse Code for Big Trouble

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Cool-Down Period

Chapter Thirty: Hold on to Your Birthday Hats

Chapter Thirty-One: The Boudreaux Bombshell

Chapter Thirty-Two: Wild Life

Chapter Thirty-Three: A Funny Thing Called Fear

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Belle of the Ball

Chapter Thirty-Five: Grown-up Time-out

Entra’acte II

Chapter Thirty-Six: Return Engagement

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Rude Awakening

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Resolution

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Praise

Copyright

About the Publisher

If you want to see rich people act really rich, go to St Henry’s School for Boys at 3 p.m. on any weekday. Nothing makes rich people crazier than being around other rich people who might be richer than they are. Private school drop-off and pick-up really gets them going. It’s an opportunity to stake their claim, show their wares and let the other parents know where they rank in the top .001 per cent of the top .0001 per cent.

A cavalcade of black SUVs, minivans and chauffeured cars snaked its way up the block beside me as I raced to my son’s after-school game. I’d skipped another meeting at work, but nothing was going to keep me that day. Gingko trees and limestone mansions lined the street where a crowd gathered in front of the school. I steeled myself and waded into a sea of parents: the dads in banker suits barking into their phones and moms with their glamorous sunglasses and toned upper arms – many with dressed-up little darlings by their sides. These children played an important role in their parents’ never-ending game of one-upmanship as they were trotted out in smocked dresses, shuttled from French tutor to Cello class and discussed like prize livestock at a 4-H Fair.

Idling in front of the school, with his tinted rear window half open, a cosmetics giant read about himself in the gossip columns. His four-year-old little girl watched a Barbie Fairytopia DVD on the small screen that dropped down from the ceiling of the vehicle while he finished the article. The nanny, in a starched white uniform, waited patiently in the front seat for him to inform her it was time to go inside.

A few yards down the block, a three-and-a-half-inch green lizard heel was reaching for the sidewalk from the back of a fat, silver Mercedes S600. The chauffeur flashed its yellow headlights at me. Next I saw a brown tweed skirt jacked up on a shapely thigh, ultimately revealing a thirty-something woman shaking out her honey-coloured hair while her driver sprinted like a madman to get her arm.

‘Jamie! Jamie!’ called Ingrid Harris, waving her manicured hand. Dozens of chunky gold bangles jangled as they slid down her arm.

I tried to shield my eyes from the glare. ‘Ingrid. Please. I love you but no. I’ve got to get to Dylan’s game!’

‘I’ve been trying to reach you!’

I ducked into the crowd, knowing she would come after me.

‘Jamie! Please! Wait!’ Ingrid caught up to me, leaving her driver behind to contend with her two boys wailing from their car seats. She let out a huge breath as if the fifteen-foot walk from the Mercedes to the kerb had taxed her. ‘Hooo!’ Remember this is a crowd that touches down on actual pavement as seldom as possible. ‘Thank God you were home last night!’