Emma McLaughlin - The Nanny Diaries

Strains of a sobbing Grayer ripple through the house as I reach for my sweatpants, finger throbbing back tolife. I pick up Mr. X's cell phone.Thecaller IDshows that all thecalls are coming from theXes' apartment.

Ring.Ring.Ring.

I struggletoopenmyheavyeyelids inthedarkness.

Ring.Ring.

1 don't knowwhyhedoesn't justcallherandtellher he's not

coming back!

"Nanny!" Grayer cries out asthephonewakes himfor thethirdtime tonight.At this pointI'm aboutone ringfromcalling herandtellingherwhereshecanstickherphoneandherfoiegras.

Reachingacross thetwo-foot divide between our beds, I squeezeGrayer's sweatyhand. "The monster," he says, "is really scary. It's going to eat you up, Nanny." The whites of Grayer's eyes shine in the dark room.

I roll over onto my side to face him, while not letting go of his hand. "Think real hard, what color was themonster?I wanttoknow, 'causeI'm friendswith a few."

He's quietfor amoment. "Blue."

"Oh,yeah?SoundslikeCookieMonsterfromSesameStreet.Was hetryingtoeatme?" I asksleepily.

"You thinkit's CookieMonster?" heasks,his deathgriplighteningasherelaxes.

"Yup. I think Cookiewanted to play with us, but he scared you byaccident and was trying to tell me he

wassorry.Wanttocountsheep?"Or rings?

"No.Singthesong,Nanny."

I yawn. " 'Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer,' " I croon softly, feeling

his warm breath on my wrist. " Take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall.'

"Hishandgrows heavyandbyninety beershe's backtosleepforatleast afewmorehours.

I turnover on myrightside andwatch him, his chest gentlyrising and falling, his hand curled under his

chin,his faceforthemoment relaxedandpeaceful. "Oh,Grove,"I sayquietly.

The next morning, after indulging in three cups of unflavored coffee, and buying a case ofAfter Bite. I

standagainsttheonlypayphoneintown,franticallydialing thenumbers ontheplasticphonecard.

"Hello?" H. H. answers.

"Oh,thankGod.I thoughtI wasn't goingtocatchyoubeforeyouleft."I slump againstthepayphone.

"Hey! No,I wasjustpacking. yflight's nottilleight.Whereareyou?"

"At a pay phone. They left me in town while they went to a dog breeder." I fish the box of cigarettes I

boughtalongwith thephonecardoutof theplastic bagandripoffthecellophanewrapper.

"Adogbreeder?"

"Mr. X is hoping to buy a small furry replacement for himself. He's leaving this afternoon. I guess one

weekof familyvacation was

THE NANNY DIARIES

about all he could take." I stick a cigarette in my mouth and light it, inhaling and exhaling quickly.

"This town must have some rule against businesses selling anything but scented candles, boats in a bottle, or flavoredfudge. Hell is ayacht-shapedcandle?

"N, just come home."A family walks by, each member in various stages of finishing ice-creamcones. I turnmybodyintothebooth,guiltily hidingthecigarette.

"But I've got to get moving money together. Ugh! When I think of all those times after work that I marchedstraighttoBarneys and blewhalf mypaycheckjust tocheer myself up, 1 couldshootmyself!" I take one last inhale and stub the cigarette out on the top of a nearby fence. "I'm so unhappy," I say quietly.

"I know,I canhearthat," hesays.

"Everyone here looks throughme,"I say, feelingmyeyes welling up with tears. "You don't understand. I'm not supposedtotalk toanybodyandeveryone acts asif I shouldbe gratefuljust tobeinNan-tucket, asifthiswere theFreshAir Fundorsomething.I'm solonely."I'm reallycrying now.

"I respectyou somuch.You've madeit throughseven whole days! Hangin therefortheGrayermeister. So,whatareyouwearing?" I smileatthefamiliar question,blowingmynoseontothebrownpaperbag.

"A G-string bikini and a cowboy hat, what else. You?" I button the top button of my cardigan and pull upthewoolturtleneckclosearoundmychinas abiting windblows offtheAtlantic.

"Sweatpants."God,I misshim.

"Listen, fly safe and remember, no pot smoking with the porn stars. Repeat: tulip barges and Anne Frankmuseum. kay. Pornstars. otokay."

"Got it, partner, keep your hat on and shoot straight from? The phone abruptly clicks and a dial tone blares into my ear, signalingthe death of my phone card. I bang the receiver into the Plexi-glas. Damn, damn,damn.

I turnawayfromthephonebooth,preparedtogobuy alotof

fudge, when the old cell phone explodes in shrill beeping, causing me to trip into the hedge and bang myelbowonthewoodenfenceliningthepathway.

Tears spring to my eyes again as I march solemnly to Annie's Candle Shack, their appointed meeting place. I shove the cigarette pack deep into the pocket of my jeans just as the Land Rover pulls into the parking lot. I can hear barking coming from the trunk of the car, but Grayer looks joylessly out through thewindow.

"Let's get going. I want to make the noon flight," Mr. X says as I strap myself in beneath the canoe and heavyraindropssplatterthewindshield.

Sharpbarkingricochetsthroughthecar.

"Makeit stop,Nanny!" Grayer saysgrumpily. "I don't likethat."

Mr. X turns offthecarandthe Xes joginto thehouse, evading thelast of thedrizzle, while I struggleto unbuckle Grayer and carry the whimpering crate in after them. I set the wooden box down on the shag rug, lifting the retriever puppy out, just as an elderly woman with shoulder-length gray hair emerges fromthekitchen.

"Grandma!" Grayer criesout.

"Ah, there you are. I thought I must have the wrong house," she says, untying her scarf and

maneuveringcarefully soasnottotouchthemildewedwalls.

"Mother." Mr. X looks as if he's just been zapped with a stun gun, but then recovers, moving forward

automatically tokiss heronthecheek. "Whatareyoudoinghere?"

"Well, that's a finewaytogreet your mother.Your charming wife calledme yesterdayand invited me to enjoy this refugee camp you probably paid a bundle for," she says, looking up at the peeling paint. "Although, honestly, I don't know why I couldn't have come tomorrow," she says to Mrs. X. "I caught the nine thirty. I tried calling from the ferry, but the line was busy, and as much fun as it would have beentowait intherainandeatoneofthefried breadproductsavailable for

THE NANNY DIARIES purchaseatyour charming stationI decidedtohail a cab."I standjustoutside oftheir triangle,takingin the grande dame who has spawned this family. I've only met women like Elizabeth X when my

grandmother has dragged me to Vassar reunions for the class of 1862. She's real Boston Brahmin, part KatharineHepbum, partOscartheGrouch. "Elizabeth,welcome."Mrs. Xglides forwardtogive her mother-in-law aguardedkiss. "CanI takeyour

coat?" Call theunion. rs. X istaking acoat!

Elizabeth slips out of her beige Burberry trench, revealing a blue and white polka-dot pleated dress.

"Darling?" Mrs. X says to Mr. X, who still looks stunned. "You're always saying how you two don't get

tospendenoughtime together,soI thought I'd giveyou alittle surprise."

"I saidhi, Grandma,"Grayersays impatiently.

She bends her knees slightly with her hands on her thighs. "You look just like your father. Now, run

along."Shestraightensup. "Who's this?Andwhat's that?"

"Elizabeth, this is Nanny. She looks after Grayer." I shift the puppy to my left arm and reach out to

shakeherhand.

"Lovely." Sheignoresthegestureandreachesintoherpursetopullout apackofBensonandHedges.

"That's Grayer's newdog," Mr. Xsaysjovially.

"I hateit,"Grayer saysfromthecouch.

"Wouldyoulike a cocktail,Mother?"

"Scotchandsoda,dear,thankyou."

"Oh,I thinkwe onlyhavevodka,Elizabeth,"Mrs. Xsays.

"Send.'m sorry,whatwasyourname?" Elizabethasks me.

"Nan,"I say.

"I cango,Mother."

"I just traveled three hours through torrential rain to spend time with my son. My son who, from the