Emma McLaughlin - The Nanny Diaries

TheonlythingI don't haveis anumbrellathatmakesme fly.

I do one last quick check for spelling, zip up my backpack, bidAlexis adieu, and jog down the marble stepsoutintotheswelteringheat.

As I walk down ParkAvenue theAugust sun is still low enough in the sky that the stroller parade is in full throttle. I pass many hot little people, looking resignedly uncomfortable in their sticky seats. They are too hot even to hold on to any of their usual traveling companions. lankies and bears are tucked intobackstroller pockets. I chuckletomyself atthechild who waves awaytheofferof a juicebox with a flick of the hand and a toss of the head that says, "I couldn't possibly be bothered with juice right now."

Waiting at a red light, I look up at the large glass windows that are the eyes of Park Avenue. From a population-density point of view, this is the Midwest of Manhattan. Towering above me are rooms. ooms androoms androoms.Andtheyareempty. Therearepowderrooms anddressingrooms andpiano rooms and guest rooms and, somewhere above me, but I won't say where, a rabbit named Arthur has sixteenfeetsquareall tohimself.

I cut across Seventy-second Street, passing under the shade of the blue awnings of the Polo mansion, andturnintoCentral Park.

THE NANNY DIARIES

Pausinginfrontof theplayground,where a fewtenaciouschildrenaretryingtheir bestdespitetheheat,

I reachinmybackpackfor a small bottle of water. ustassomethingcrashesintomylegs. I lookdown

andsteadytheoffendingobject,anold-fashionedwoodenhoop.

"Hey, that's mine!" A small boy of about four or so careens down the hill from where I see he's been posingfor aportrait withhis parents. His sailorhattopplesoffintothepatchygrass asheruns.

"That's myhoop,"heannounces.

"Are yousure?" I ask.Helooksperplexed. "It couldbe awagonwheel."I holdit sideways. "Or a halo?"

I holditabovehis blondhead. "Or a reallylargepizza?" I holditouttohim,gesturingthathecantake it.

He's smilingbroadly atme ashegraspsitinhis hands.

"You, silly!" Hedrags itbackupthehill, passinghis motherasshestrolls downtoretrievethehat.

"I'm sorry," she says, brushing dust off the striped brim as she approaches me. "I hope he didn't bother

you."Sheholdsherhandout toblockthesunfromher paleblueeyes.

"No,notatall."

"Oh,butyourskirt? Sheglancesdown.

"No bigdeal," I laugh,dustingoffthemarkthehoopleftonthefabric. "I workwith kids, soI'm usedto

beingbangedup."

"Oh, you do?" She angles her body so her back is to her husband and a blond woman who stands off to

thesideof thephotographerholding a juiceboxforthe boy. His nanny,I presume. "Aroundhere?"

"Actually,thefamily moved toLondonover thesummer,so?

"We're ready!" thefathercalls impatiently.

"Coming!" she calls back brightly. She turns to me, tilting her delicately featured face away from him.

She lowers her voice. "Well, we're actually looking for someone who might want to help us out part-time."

"Really? Part-time wouldbegreat,becauseI have afull courseloadthissemester?

19

"What's thebest waytoreachyou?"

I rummage through my backpack for a pen and a scrap of notebook on which I can scribble down my information. "Here you go." I pass her the paper and she discreetly slips it in the pocket of her shift, beforeadjustingtheheadbandinher long,darkhair.

"Wonderful." She smiles graciously. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you. I'll be in touch." She takes a fewstepsup thehill andthenturnsaround. "Oh,howsillyof me.'m Mrs. X."

1 return the smile before she goes back to take her place in the contrived tableau. The sun filters through the leaves, creating dappled sunshine on the three figures. Her husband, in a white seersucker suit,standssquarelyinthemiddle,hishandontheboy's head,assheslidesinbesidethem.

The blond woman steps forward with a comb and the little boy waves to me, causing her to turn and follow his gaze.As she shields her eyes to get a better look at me I turn and continue on myway across thepark.

My grandmother greets me in her entryway in a linen Mao Tse-tung outfit and pearls. "Darling! Come in. 1 was just finishing my tai-chi." She gives me a kiss on both cheeks and a solid hug for good measure. "Honey, you're damp. Would you like to shower?" There is nothing better than being offered Grandma's buffetof amenities.

"Maybe just acoldwashcloth?"

"I know what you need." She takes my hand, weaving her fingers through mine, and leads me to her guest powder room. I've always adored howthe small lights of theantique crystal chandelier illume the rich peach chintz. But my favorite part is the framed French paper dolls. When I was little I would set up a salon under the sink, for which Grandma would provide real tea and topics for the discussions I wouldleadwith all of mylovely Frenchguests.

THE NANNY DIARIES

She places my hands under the faucet and runs cool water over my wrists. "Pressure points for distributing fire," she says as she sits down on the toilet seat, crossing her legs. She's right; I begin to cooldownimmediately.

"Haveyoueaten?" sheasks.

"I hadbreakfast."

"Whataboutlunch?"

"It's onlyeleven, Gran."

"Is it? I've beenup since four.ThankGodforEuropeor I'd havenoonetotalkto till eight."

I smile. "Howhaveyoubeen?"

"I've been seventy-four for two months, that's how I've been." She points her toes like a dancer and slightly lifts the hem of her pants. "It's called Sappho. had it done atArden's this morning?what do youthink?Tootoo?" Shewigglesher coraltoes.

"Gorgeous,very sexy. Okay,asmuchasI wouldlovetospendtherestof thedayinhereI've gottodrag myself downtown and make my offering to the Tuition Gods." I turn off the sink and shake my hands dramatically over thebasin.

She hands me a towel. "You know, I don't remember having a single conversation like the ones you describe when I was at Vassar." She is referring to my endless history of tete-a-tetes with the administrative staffatNYU.

I follow behind her into the kitchen. "Today I'm prepared. I've got my Social Security card, my driver's license, my passport, a Xerox copy of my birth certificate, every piece of mail I've ever received from NYU, and my letter of acceptance. This time I won't be told I don't go there, haven't completed the last semester, haven't paid my tuition from last year, haven't paid my library fees, don't have the correct ID number,SocialSecuritynumber,proof of myaddress,therightforms, orsimply don't exist."

"My, my, my." Sheopensthefridge. "Bourbon?"

"Orangejuicewouldbegreat."

"Kids." She rolls her eyes and points me to her old air conditioner sitting on the floor. "Darling, let me

getthedoormantohelpyoucarryit."

"No, Gran, I got it," I say, trying valiantly to heave the machine into my arms before slamming it back downonthetile. "Yeah,okay,I thinkI'm goingtohavetocome backlaterwith Joshandgetthis." "Joshua?" she asks with a raised eyebrow. "Your little blue-haired friend? He weighs five pounds

soakingwet."

"Well, unlesswe wantDadthrowinghis backoutagain,that'sabout all I havetochoosefromintheboy department." "I chant for you every morning,darling," shesays, reachingfor a glass. "Come on. Let me whip you up

someEggsBenedict."

I glanceup at theold Nelson wall clock. "I wish I hadtime, but I've gotta get downtown before the line attheregistrarisaroundtheblock." She gives me a kiss on both cheeks. "Well, then bring that Joshua by at seven and I'll feed you both a

propermeal. ou're disappearing!"

Joshgroansandrollsslowlyontohis backfromwherehehasnearly

blacked out after dropping the air conditioner outside my front door. "You lied to me," he wheezes.

"You saiditwasonthethirdfloor." "Yeah?" I say, shakingoutmylowerarms whileleaningback

againstthetop stair.

Helifts hisheadaninchoffthefloor. "Nan,thatwassix flights.