Emma McLaughlin - The Nanny Diaries

a niceplace."

"Yeah?Carter,getoffhim!" I lookover justasGrayerisreleased

from a deathgrip.

"Wow, Carter,how'd youdothat?Showme,showme!" Grayer's eyes arealightatthediscovery.

"Oh,great," I say. "Nowhe'll beleapingouttoputme in a chokehold."

"A swift kick to the groin and they're down in no time," she says, winking at me. Where has she been

thiswholeyear? I couldhavehad a playgroundbuddy. "Hey,youwanttoseetheterrace?"

"Sure." I follow her out to a stone balcony overlooking the garden and the back of the brownstones on

theothersideoftheblock.We standundertheawningastherainsplattersthetipsofour shoes.

"It's beautiful,"I say, mybreathcoming inlittlepuffsof vapor. "It's arealnineteenth-centuryenclave."

Shenods. "Cigarette?" sheasks.

"You cansmoke?"

"Sure."

"Carter's momdoesn't mind?"

"Please."I takeone.

"So,howlonghaveyoubeenworkinghere?" I ask asshestrikesthematch.

"About a year. It's a little nuts, but compared to the other jobs I've had.... I mean, when you live in, you

know." She shakes her head, blowing smoke into the drizzle. "They run your life while you live in a closet off the kitchen.At least here I've got a great space. Those round windows?" She points with her cigarette. "That's my bedroom and that, there, is my sitting room. And my bath has a Jacuzzi. It was meanttobe aguestsuite,but,well,guestsare a littleoutofthequestion."

"Wow. Not a baddeal."

"Well, it's full-time duty."

"Are theynice?"

She starts laughing. "I guess he's not bad. e's never really around, which makes her a bit off her

rocker.That's whytheyneeded alive-in?

THE NANNY DIARIES

"Yoo-hoo! Lizzie!Are you outthere?" I freeze,trying not to exhale, a tinytrail of smoke escapingfrom

mynostrils.

"Yeah, Mrs. Milton. We're outside." She casually stubs out her cigarette on the balustrade and throws it intothegarden.I shrugandfollowsuit. "There you are!" she says as we come back into the kitchen. Mrs. Milton, a Matel blonde, sits on the

floorin a peach-silk robe,sniffinganddelicately wiping hernose, while theboys runaround her. "Now, who's this?" Her voice has a slight Southern lilt. "That's Grayer," Lizzie says. "And I'm Nanny." I extendmyhand.

"Oh, Grayer! Grayer, I saw your momma at Swifty's. Well, every time we're at Lotte Berk we keep sayingwehavetoget ourboys together.Andthenthereshewashavinglunchandwe said,well,wejust have to make a plan, and here you are! Grayer!" She picks him up and holds him upside down, in fluffy mules, no less. Grayer seems to be trying to make eye contact with me, clearly uncertain how to respond to this outpouring of affection. She puts him down. "Lizzie! Lizzie, darlin', don't you have a datetonight?" "Yeah,but?

"Shouldn't youbegettingready?" "It's onlyfour."

"Nonsense. Go relax. I want to spend some time with my Carter. Besides, Nanny can help me." She hunkersdown. "Hey,boys, youwannamake a cake?We havecakemix,right,Lizzie?" "Always."

"Great!" Her silk robe billows out behind her as she crosses to the kitchen, revealing long, tanned, and very nakedlegs. I realize as she turns that she is completely au naturel beneath her robe. "Now,let's see

... eggs... milk."Shepullseverything outandsets itonthecounter. "Lizzie, wherearethepans?"

"In thedrawer undertheoven." Shegrabs mywrist andwhis!

pers, "Don't let her burn herself." Before I have chanceto ask if and whythis is likely she's run upstairs toherroom.

"I likechocolatecake,"Grayer says,castinghis vote.

"We only havevanilla, sugar." Mrs. Miltonholds uptheredbox.

"I likevanilla," says Carter.

"At mybirthday,"Grayer continues, "I had acake. It lookedlike a footballanditwasreallyreally big!"

"Woohoo! Let's have some music." She pushes a button on the Bang & Olufsen stereo above the counter and Donna Summer comes blaring out. "Come on, sugar pie. Come and dance with Momma." Carter shakes his arms and bobs his knees. Grayer starts off slowly with a head wiggle, but by "On the Radio"helets thejazzhandsfly.

"Lookin' good, boys!" She takes a hand of each and the three of them bounce through all of Donna Summer's Greatest Hits right up through "She Works Hard for the Money," while I quietly start cracking eggs and greasing the pan. I put the cake in the oven and turn around in search of an oven timer,toseeMrs. Miltontwirling nearthePlayskool village. I have a MissClavel feeling.

"I'm just going to go use the powder room," I say to no one in particular. I open every door off the pantry,attempting tolocate abathroom.

Turningonthelightin a small room,I discover fourmannequinsin aVconfigurationwearingsequined gowns, each with a banner across her middle. Miss Tucson. Miss Arizona. Miss Southwest. Miss Southern States. There are tiaras and scepters, framed news clippings and a baton, all carefully displayed inglass cases.

I slowly inspect every dress, each sash, and then go over to the far wall, which is covered in glossy, framed photographs of Mrs. Milton. he Vegas showgirl. Which, I guess, is where you go after being

Miss Southern States. There is row after row of photographs of her in various sequined costumes and headdresses,wearingthick

THE NANNY DIARIES makeup and false lashes. In each she's sitting on some celebrity's lap, everyone from Tony Bennett to Rod Stewart. And then 1 see it, halfway down the wall, almost hidden, a snapshot of Mrs. Milton in a short, skintight white dress, Mr. Milton, his eyes rolled back in his head, and the preacher. The caption ontheframe reads, "TheAil-Night ChapelofLove,August12,199-."

I turnoutthelightandfindthebathroom.

WhenI come backoutMrs. Miltonis peeringforlornlyinthe

oven.

"You didit."

"Yes, ma'am." I justsaid "ma'am."

"You didit."Sheseems tobehaving troubleabsorbingthe

information.

"It's almost done,"I offerreassuringly.

"Oh, goodie! Who wants frosting?" She pulls six tubs of different-flavored frosting out of the fridge.

"Carter, get the food dye." Grayer and Carter mambo over. She grabs sprinkles, silver balls, and candy confetti from the cupboards and starts squirting the food dye Carter hands her directly into the tubs. "Ooohwee!" She's laughinguncontrollablynow.

"Mrs. Milton,"1 say, standingbackwith apprehension, "I think

it's timeforGrayer andmetogo."

"Tina!"

"I begyourpardon?"

"CallmeTina!You can't leave," shecalls over her shoulderasshescoops a fingerfulof frostingintoher

mouth.

"1 DON'T WANT TO GO HOME!" Grayer panics, his fists tightly clenching a bouquet of plastic

spoons.

"See, nobody has to leave. Now, who ... wants ... frosting?" She reaches into two of the containers,

pullingouttwo handfulsoffrostingandcatapultingthem, oneatCarter,oneatGrayer. "Frosting fight!" She hands a tub to each boy and the frosting starts flying. I try to duck behind the island, but Tina hits me squarelyacrossthe

chest. I haven't been in a food fight since middle school, but I grab a tub of pink and fling a small handfulather. ustpaying herbackforthesweater. ndthenI'm out.

"Ooh-hah!" They are laughing hysterically. The boys roll on the floor, mushing frosting in each other's hair. Tinagrabssomesilver balls andsprinklesthemover theboys likesnow.

"What's goingondownthere?" Lizzie's sternEnglishvoicecalls fromupstairs.

"Ooh, we're in trouble," she says. "Carter, I think we're in trouble." They all crack up again. Lizzie comes intothekitcheninherterry bathrobeandslippers.

"Oh, my God." She looks around. There is frosting everywhere, dripping off the French tiles and the topiariesliningthewindow.

"Oh,Lizzie,wewere justhavingfun.Loosenup!Don't besoBritish."

"Tina!" Lizzie uses myWickedWitchvoice. "Goget inthetub!"Tinalookscrestfallenandstartsto cry, sinkinginherrobeandrevealing a bittoomuchof herimpressive superstructure.