Emma McLaughlin - The Nanny Diaries

WHOMP!

"I didit!Nanny,I didit!"

I right myself, reach down with my three-fingered hand for his, and we waddle with pride toward the entrance. Mr. andMrs. X havekindly heldtheelevator forusandwe rideup totheforty-fifthfloorwith

anothercouplewhosechildrencouldn't attend. "Homework."

We all step out into a cavernous reception area, which has been transformed into a Tim Burton film. hemarblewalls arecoveredincut-out batsandfakecobwebs,every inchoftheceilingdrips in

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streamers, spiders, and skeletons. Thereare numerous bar tables strategically placed at regular intervals aroundtheroom,eachaglowwith a hand'carvedpumpkin centerpiece.

It seems as thoughevery unemployed actor in thetristate area has been called in to entertain the troops. At the reception desk Frankenstein pretends to answer phones, Betty Boop walks by with a tray of drinks, and Marilyn is singing "Happy Birthday, Mr. President" to a cluster of Mr. X's colleagues in the corner. Grayerlooksaroundwith a bitof trepidationuntilGarfield comes bywith a trayof peanutbutter andjellysandwiches.

"You can take one. Go ahead, Grayer," 1 encourage him. He has some trouble with the gloves on, but managestosecureoneandmunches,slowlymushinghis bodytighteragainstmyleg.

The far wall is a breathtaking, floor-to-ceiling view of the Statue of Liberty. I seem to be the only one appreciating it, but then I'm also one of the few nannies with a visible face.Apparently Mrs. X was not alone in her concept for the evening; all the nannies are in huge rented costumes at least three feet in circumference; the child is a small Snow White, nanny is a large Dwarf, the child is a small farmer, nanny is a very large cow, the child is a small Pied Piper, nanny is a large rat. However, the winners, hands down, are the Teletubbies. I exchange wan smiles across the room with two Tinky Winkys from Jamaica.

A couplewith asmallWoodstockandlargeSnoopyintowcomes over tous.

"Darling,youlookfabulous!" says thewifetoMrs. X,ormaybe Grayer.

"HappyHalloween,Jacqueline,"Mrs. Xreplies,givingher anair kiss.

Jacqueline, wearing a tiny pink pillbox hat with her blackArmani, barrels on to Mr. X. "Darling, you're notincostume, youbadboy!" Herown betrothediswearing a captain's hatwith his pinstripedsuit.

"I'm dressedas a lawyer,"Mr. Xsays. "Butreally,I'm aninvestmentbanker!"

"Stop!" Jacqueline says, giggling. "You're such a stitch!" She looks down at Laa-Laa and Woodstock. "You little darlings should go check out the games area. t's fabulous!" I look over at Snoopy, who's listing under the weight of the giant head. "We got a much better company this year to organize the wholething.TheydidBlackstone's 4thof JulyBungeeJump andCocktails."

"I heard that was lovely. Mitzi Newmann's gotten addicted. She had a free-fall bridge installed in Connecticut. Go ahead, Grayer," Mrs. X encourages. He stares up at all the macabre mayhem and doesn't lookentirely convincedthathewantstobeseparatedfromhisparentsrightnow.

"Go on,sport,and ifyou're good, I'll takeyoutoseetheexecutive diningroom," Mr. Xsays, prompting Grayer tolookup atme.

"Where Daddy has lunch," I explain. I take his hand and follow our Peanuts teamto the children's area, which is cordoned off with a little picket fence. As Barbie opens the gate I look at her. "Good idea," I say, "let's keepout thegrown-ups."

The whole twenty-foot area is rilled with activity tables and games that seem mostly to involve throwing things. (A miscalculation on someone's part, I think, as a small Big Bird goes down.) I notice veryquicklythatthegrown-up drink traysaren't circulatinginhereandleanoutover thefencetoswipe a little relief. Occasionally parents swing by, like maitre d's, to ask if the child is enjoying him/herself andremark, "Amarshmallow ghost! Ooooh,scary!", thenturnbacktoeachothertoadd, "You justhave no idea what our renovation is costing. t's really staggering. But Bill wanted a screening room."And theyshrug,rolltheireyes, andshaketheirheads.

Mrs. X has come in with Sally Kirkpatrick, a woman I recognize from Grayer's swimming class, to watch her three-foot Batman try to obliterate his ring-toss opponents. I come up behind them to check inaboutbedtime.

THE NANNY DIARIES "Your newgirl's reallygoodatgetting Grayerinthepool,"Mrs. Kirkpatricksays. "Thanks, I wish I could take him, but Tuesday's my day at the Parents League and with ice skating on

Fridays and French on Thursdays and CATS on Wednesday I need one day to do something for

myself."

"I know, I'm so busy. I'm on four different committees this season. Oh, can I put you down for a table

fortheBreastBall?"

"Of course."

"So whathappenedtoCaitlin?Your newgirldidn't seemtoknow."

"Sally,itwas a nightmare. I'm luckyI foundNannywhenI did! Caitlin, whosework I never foundtobe

exemplary, by the way, but I put up with it, because, well, one does. Anyway, she had the nerve to ask for the last week ofAugust off after I already gave her the first two weeks of Januarywhen we went to Aspen."

"You're kidding."

"Well, I justfeltshewastryingtotakecomplete advantageofme?

"Ryan,playfair. hatwaslolanthe's ring,"SallyshoutsatherBatman.

"ButI positively didnotknowwhattodo,"Mrs. Xcontinues,sippingPerrier.

"So youfiredher?" Sallyasks, eagerly.

"First I talkedto a professionalproblemconsultant?

"Oh,who'd youuse?"

"BrianSwift."

"I hearhe's great."

"He was fantastic. elped me put the whole thing into perspective. He made it clear that my authority

as house manager had been called into question and I had to bring in a replacement to drive the point

home."

"Brilliant. Don't let me forgetto get his number from you. I'm having suchproblems with Rosarita. The otherdayI askedherto

runup to Midtown to pick up a few things while Ryan was inhockey class and shesaid she didn't want tobecauseshedidn't thinkshe'd haveenoughtime togetback.I mean,doesshethinkI don't knowhow longittakestogetaround?"

"I know,it's appalling.Afterall, whenthekids areinclass they're justsittingthere,onourdime. I mean, really."

"So,areyoudonewith all yourinterviews?" Sally asks.

"Well, we have Collegiate on Tuesday, but I'm not sure if I want him on the West Side," Mrs. X says, shakingherhead.

"But it's such a good school. We'd be thrilled if Ryan got in there. We're hoping the violin gives him an edge."

"Oh,Grayerplays thepiano. hadnoideathatwasimportant," Mrs. Xsays.

"Well, itdependsonhis level. Ryan's alreadycompetingregionally..."

"Oh,I see.That's fantastic."

Apprehensiveof what I mightsaytoMrs. X atthis moment on two vodkatonics,I tiptoebackwardand spot Grayer, still slinging beanbags like a pro, which leaves me free to grab another drink and observe the grown-up side of the room. Everyone is dressed in black, the men are tall, the women slim, they all standwith theleftarmfoldedacross theirabdomen,thelefthandsupportingtherightelbowsotheright hand can wave a drink around as they talk.As the pumpkin centerpieces slowly burn down they begin to cast long shadows of bankers and banker wives and everyone is starting to look to me like a Charles Addamscartoon.

I realizeI'm getting woozyfrom theheatand thealcohol, but mypurple posterior doesn't fit into anyof the pint-size plastic chairs. So I sit on the floor a few feet away from the cupcake table where Grayer has stationed himself while his pitching arm recovers. There is so much commotion around us from the Busby Berkeley staff of hired activity folk that I must consciously fix my stare on Grayer while he decorateshis fourthcupcake. I leanmyheadagainstthe

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wall andwatchwith prideasheassertively grabs sprinklesandsilver balls, whileother childrenwait for their nannies, crouched beside them, to hand over tubes of frosting as if their charges were about to performsurgery.