Emma McLaughlin - The Nanny Diaries

Sheweaves inandoutof umbrellas, beforepointingher headat aplot of emptybeachto indicatewhere I'm tosetup camp.Grayer skipsincircles aroundtheblanketasI layitout.

"Come on! Let's go swimming! Right now. Right now." I look over at Mrs. X, as I anchor the blanket with abag,but she's alreadyimmersed inconversation.

"Let's get your suit on, Grover." I take his hand to walk up to the cabana that someone named Ben's brother has lent us for the week while he's in Paris. I close the wooden door, leaving us in damp semi!darkness,with onlyslivers ofsunlightpeeringinthroughtheslats

and onto the white boards. He pulls open the door the moment his other foot is through the top of the shorts.

"Wait, G! Got to lather up." I hold up the Chanel Bebe SPF 62, which I am constantly forced to slather onhim.

"I hatethatstuff!" Hetriestomake arunforit,butI grab hisarm.

"Howaboutyouputit onmyfaceand I'll putit onyours,"I offer.

"Me first." He gives in. I squirt the white cream on his fingers and he smears it over my nose. I gently cover his, tryingtogethis cheeksatthesametime sowe cangetoutofthecabanabeforesunset.

"Nanny,we aretakingturns!Don't cheat," headmonishes, generouslyslatheringmyears.

"Sorry, Grove. I just want to hurry up and get this stuff on you so we can get out there and go swimming." I cover his earsandchest.

"I'll do it myself, then." He smears his hands on his arms and legs, covering about a fifth of his exposed skin.I benddowninthedoorway,attempting toeven itout,butherunsawayfrommebackdowntothe sand.Tenpedicuredtoesstopinfrontofme.

"Nanny, don't forget to put sunscreen on him. Oh, and there's a jellyfish warning today so you better bringeverything uptothepool. Seeyoulater."

I schlep our stuffback up to the pool, only to discover that the water is slowly being drained out after a small child had an "accident." We head over to the Little Schooners Playground, a bit of an overstatement for a rusted swing set in a shadeless, fenced patch of sand. The sun beats down mercilessly as Grayer attempts to play with the seven other children, none of whom is close to him in age.We all poolbeachsupplies,takingturnscoloring, throwing aball, andpickingour noses.

After he threatens to hurl a two-year-old off the swing set for her juice box, I leave our stuff and lead Grayer over totheclaycourts togetdrinkmoneyfrom Mr. X. For agoodtwentyminutes,

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we stumble along the bleachers in the heat searching for his match, but find it difficult to pick him out ofthecrowdofmiddle-aged menwearingvisors.

"That's him!That's mydad!" Grayerkeeps shoutinghopefully,pointingatvariousmen intenniswhites, onlytohavethemturnaroundwithdisconcertinglyunfamiliar faces.

When we finally spot him on the last court Grayer throws himself against the fence, gripping the wire with his fingersandscreaming,likeDustinHoffmaninTheGraduate.

'VaaAAAAaadddDDdyyyyYYYYyyyyyy!!!!"

Elizabeth hisses at us disapprovingly as Mr. X marches over with a murderous look in his eye. I guess Grayer "the politicalprisoner" doesn't fitinwith theimagehe's beencultivating all morning.

"Come on now, sport, don't cry," he booms for the whole court to hear. I put my hands gently on Grayer's shoulders to pull him back. "Get him out of here!" he whispers fiercely as soon as he's close enough that he won't be overheard. "And here." He pulls his cell phone from his belt and thrusts it throughthefenceatme. "Takethisgoddamnthingwithyou."

He stalks back to his game before I can ask him for the money. I look up to Elizabeth, but she glares straight in front of her, blowing smoke coolly to the side. I shove the phone deep into my pocket, and pickupGrayer,who's screaming,andlughim,stillscreaming,totheparkinglot,becauseI havenoidea whereelsetogo.

When I am about two minutes from teaching Grove how to drink from the sprinklers we finally track downMrs. Xatthegolfcourse.

"There you are!" she exclaims, as if she's been looking for us for hours. "Grayer, are you hungry?" He droopstothegrass,still holdingmyhand.

"I thinkhe's thirsty,actually?

"Well, theBenningtonshaveinvited afewfamilies totheir

house for a barbecue. Won't that be fun?" He plops down on the lawn, red faced and sweating, forcing me topickhimupandfollowherasshestrollsbacktothecar,sippingfromher Perrier.

When we pull into the Benningtons' drive the first thing I notice is the Filipino man in a white jacket walking a poodle around the fountain. The second is that there are at least fifteen cars parked on the gravel. How do you throw together an impromptu barbecue for fifteen families when the Benningtons left the club only minutes before us?As we walk through the white gate at the side of the house to the poolareatheanswerbecomes apparent.You callthehouseonyourcell phoneandmobilizeyourstaff.

I stand there, absorbing the realization that there is no way my wedding is going to be as nice as this informal little barbecue. It's not just that the impeccably manicured lawn goes right down to the water, or thateverything isinfullbloom, orthatanothermanin a white jacketis tendingbar,servingicecubes that all havegrapesfrozeninthem, while a thirdflips filet-mignon burgers;it's not even thattableswith starched floral tablecloths have been set up all over the lawn; what finally gets me are the watermelons sculptedintothebustsof formerpresidents.

I am startled by Grayer, fully revived from the contraband can of Coke his dad absentmindedly handed him, dumping a hot dog on my foot. He has ketchup all over himself, including his Lacoste shirt. I couldn't bemore pleased.

"Come on, Grover, let's get you another dog." He and I eat our lunch, and then I sit nursing a vodka-tonic while he runs around thelawn with theother kids. Bynow I knowbetter than totalk to anyof the guests.

I see the Horners arrive with an attractive tan woman in tow. Caroline brings her over to meet Mrs. X while Jacktakesthegirls tothegrill. I watchwith curiosity asMrs. Xswitches herselfon,her hands

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going to her pearls, her face a mask of compassion. This must be Caroline's divorcee from California. After a few minutes Mrs. X loses steam, holds up her empty glass to signal her need for a refill, and departs.

Jack joins the two women, bringing with him a hot dog and Mr. X. The foursome engage in animated conversation for some time until Lulu skips over and pulls her parents away. Mr. X and the tan woman starttowalkover towhereI'm sitting. I quicklyslump downinthechairandclosemyeyes. NotthatMr.

X couldpickmeout of alineup.

"Well,"I hearhimsayastheypass by, "I haveseasontickets, soifyou'd liketogo..."

"Doesn't yourwife gowith you?" sheasks.

"She usedto,butshe's sowrappedupwith oursonlately..."Your who?

I sit back up to check if Mrs. X has noticed her husband's stroll down to the water, but she's embroiled

with Mrs. Longacre. Mypocketstartstovibrate.

"Whatthe... ?" I pull Mr. X's pulsingphoneoutandtrytoswitch it offwithoutspillingmydrink, hitting

buttonsatrandom.

"Hello?" I hear avoice calloutfrommypalm.

"Hello?" I instinctivelyraisethephonetomyear.

"Whoisthis?" awoman's voicedemands.

"Nanny,"I say. There's noneedtoaskwho sheis.

"Nanny?" Shesoundslikeshe's crying. "Is hethere?"

"No," I say, craning my neck to see down to the water, but Mr. X and his new friend have disappeared.

"I'm sorry,look,I've gottago?

"No.Don't hangup.Please. Pleasejusttellmewhereheis,"shebegstearfully.

I crane my head around. "Wait a sec." I hold the phone down low at my hip and walk swiftly up to the

house and into the first French door off the porch. I close it shut behind me, keeping Grayer steadily in

mygaze. I take adeepbreathbeforeliftingthephone back up to my ear. "Look, I'm not really sure what to tell you. Not to be trite, but I really just work here."