Emma McLaughlin - The Nanny Diaries

"Myname's Cristabelle.Alexis wearing ashirt,"shesays, pointingover atthirtyshirt-wearingchildren.

Grayer looksup atmeblankly.

"Grayer,Mommy saidyouhave a playdatewithAlex,"I say.

He shrugs. "How about Cristabelle? Cristabelle, want to have a play date?"Apparently, one play date's

asgoodasanother.

"Grover, it's not Cristabelle, sweetie. But we can have a play date with Cristabelle another day. Would

you like that?" The little girl huffs off. At the age of four she seems already to know thatif the date has

tobepostponedit probablyisn't goingtohappen.

"Okay,Grayer,think.Didn't yourmomsayanything toyouthismorning?"

"She saidI havetouse moretoothpaste."

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

list.

"Hepicks his nose."

"AlexKushman?"

"She spitsKool-Aid."Hecrackshimself 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 hello 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 title, 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 class?"

"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 inhisclasses."

"That's great."

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"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 passhim 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 talkaboutitathome."

"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 assistant 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 cushion next to me, his arms

outstretched.

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

"I wassupposedtobringmytoys."

"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.

Shepressesthebutton. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Hasthemotherfuckercalled?" awoman's voice cracklesoutof thewall.

"No,ma'am."

"Goddammit! EversincehefrozemyfuckingcardsI'm supposed

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to get a fucking check. How hard is that? I mean, how am I supposed to feed Alex? Fucker. 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, shirtless and shoeless, paces in front of a stockpile of all his earthly possessions. He halts and looksupatus.

"I toldthefuckerhehastobringhis 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 needyoutostartassemblying thefollowingitems forthegiftbags.

Exceptforthechampagne,youshouldbeabletofindmost of theseatGraciousHome.

AnnickGoutalSoap

Piper Heidsieck,small bottle

Morroccoleathtertravelpictureframe,redorgreen

MontBlanc pen?small