The Nanny Diaries Part 16

"Okay.Whatarewegoingtodotonight,Nanny?Let's fly!Yeah, I thinkweshouldflya.s.soonaswe get upstairs." LatelyI've beenbalancinghim onmyfeetand "flying"himinhis room. "After bath, G, that's flying time." I push the stroller over the threshold. "What do you want for dinner?"

I'm hanging up our coats when Mrs. X walks into the front hall in a floor-length red evening gown and Velcrocurlers, alreadyintheheatofpreparationforherValentinedinnerdatewith Mr. X.

"Hi,guys. Didyouhave agoodday?"

"HappyValentine's Day, Mommy!" Grayershoutsingreeting.

"HappyValentine's Day. Oops,becarefulofMommy's dress."

Spatula.

"Wow, youlookbeautiful,"I say, pullingoffmyboots.

"You think so?" She looks down in consternation at her midriff. "I still have a little time. r. X's flight fromChicaG.o.doesn't landforanotherhalf hour. Couldyoucome helpme fora minute?" "Sure. I wasjustgoingtogetdinnerstarted.I thinkGrayer's pretty hungry."

"Oh.Well, whydon't youjustordersomethingin?There's moneyinthedrawer."Well, I never.

"Great! Grayer, why don't you come help me order?" I keep a hidden stash of menus in the laundry roomforemergencies.

"Pizza!I wantpizza,Nanny!Pleeeaaase?"

1 53.

I raise an eyebrow at him because he knows I can't say "But you had pizza for lunch" in front of his mother.

"Great. Nanny, why don't you call for a pizza, pop in a v-i-d-e-o and then come help me," she says as sheleaves theroom. "Hahaha, pizza, Nanny, we're having pizza," he laughs and claps wildly at his unbelievable good fortune.

"Mrs. X?" I pushthedooropen.

"In here!" she calls out from the dressing room. She's standing in another floor-length red gown and there's athirdhangingupbehindher.

"Oh, my G.o.d! Wow, it's beautiful." This one has thicker straps and red velvet leaf appliques trailing aroundtheskirt.Thecoloris a stunningcombination with herthickblackhair. Shelooksinthemirror andshakesherhead. "No,it's justnotright." I lookcarefullyatherinthedress. I realizeI've never seenher arms or sternumbefore. Shelookslike a ballet dancer,tinyand all sinew. But sheisn't fillingoutthedress inthebustandit's hanging all wrong.

"I thinkmaybe it's thebustline,"I saytentatively.

She nods her head. "Breast-feeding," she says derisively. "Let me try on the third. Would you like some wine?" I noticetheopenbottleof Sancerreonthedresser.

"No,thankyou.I shouldn't."

"Oh,comeon.Gotake agla.s.s offthebar."

I walk throughto thepiano room where I can hearthe strains of "I'm Madeline!I'm Madeline!" coming fromthelibrary.

WhenI get backshe's comeoutin a beautifulNapoleonicraw-silkgown, lookinglikeJosephine.

"Oh,muchbetter," I say. "Theempire waist reallysuitsyou."

"Yeah,but.i.tisn't verys.e.xy,isit?"

"Well... no,it's beautiful,but.i.tdependsonthelookyou're goingfor."

"Breathtaking,Nanny. I wantto bebreathtaking."We both smile a.s.sheslips behindtheChinesescreen.

"I've gotonemore."

"Are yougoingtokeep all ofthese?" I eyethezeros onthedanglingpricetags.

"No,ofcoursenot. I'll returntheonesI don't wear. Oh,thatremindsme."Shesticksherheadaroundthe screen. "CanyoutaketherestbacktoBergdorf'sformetomorrow?"

"No problem. I can do it while Grayer's at his play date." "Great. Can you zip me?" she calls out. I put down my wine and go around to zip her into a stunningly s.e.xy 1930s red sheath, "Yes," we both say as soon as she looks in the mirror. "It's beautiful," I say. And mean it. It's the first one that uses her proportions to its advantage, making her look sylphlike, rather than emaciated. Looking at her reflection,I realizethatI am rootingforher,rootingforthem.

"So what do you think? Earrings or no earrings? I need to wear this necklace becausemyhusbandgave ittome."Sheholdsup a strandof diamonds. "Isn't itbeautiful?ButI don't wanttooveracces!sorize."

"Doyouhaveanylittlestuds?"

ShestartsgoingthroughherjewelryboxandI takemywineover tothevelvet bench.

"These?" Sheholdsup a pairof diamondstuds?Orthese?"?

andrubies.

"No,definitely thediamonds.You don't wanttooverdothered."

"I went to Chanel today and got the perfect lipstick and look!" She sticks out her foot. Her toes are paintedinChanelRedcoat.

"Perfect,"I say, taking asip.Sheputsinthestudsandgives herself aquickswipe with thelipstick.

"What do you think?" She turns for me. "Oh, wait!" She goes 1 over to the Manolo Blahnik bag on thefloorandpullsout a boxcontaining a pair ofexquisiteblacksilksandals. "Toomuch?"

I 55.

"No,no.They're gorgeous,"I say, a.s.sheslipsthemonandturnsformeagain.

"So,whatdoyouthink?Anythingmissing?"

"Well, I'd take the curlers out." She laughs. "No, really, it's perfect." I give her another once-over. "Um, it's justthat..."

"What?"

"Doyouhave athong?"

She quickly looks backward in the mirror. "Oh, my G.o.d. You're right." She starts rifling through the plasticbags inher lingeriedrawer. "I think Mr. X gaveme apair onourhoneymoon." Oh,brilliant, Nan!

Brill-i-ant! Sendhercombingthroughthepantydrawer. "You can always go commando," I suggest urgently from the velvet bench where I'm downing the rest ofmywine.

"Got 'em!" shesaysandholdsupanexquisite, delicateblackLaPerla thongwithcreamsilkembroidery, whichI am pray-ing ishers. Thedoorbellrings. "NANNYYY!Thepizza's here!" "Thanks,Grayer!" I callback.

"Thesewill do.I'm all set. Thankyousomuch."

After Grayer and I polish off half a medium pie I remove a small cardboard box from my backpack.

"And now a special Valentine's dessert," I say, producing two chocolate cupcakes with red hearts on them. Grayer's eyes widen atthedeparturefrom choppedfruit andsoycookies. I pour useach a gla.s.s of milkandwedig in.

"Oh,whathavewehere?"We bothfreeze,cupcakesmidwaytoourmouths.

"Nanny bwought thpecial walentine's cucakes," Grayer explains defensively with a mouth full of chocolate.

Mrs. X has pulledher longhair up into a loosechignonandfinishedher makeup.Shelookslovely. "Oh, that's sonice. DidyouthankNanny?"

"Thankyou,"hesprays.

"The carshouldbe hereanyminute."Sheperches ontheedgeofthebanquette, every muscletensedfor theintercombuzzer. Shereminds meofmyself inhighschool, all dressedup,justwaiting togetthecall tofindoutwhoseparentswereoutof town,wherewewere meeting,wherehewasgoingtobe.

We awkwardly finishour cupcakeswhileshesits anxiously besideus.

"Well.. ." ShestandsasI'm cleaningGrov offbeforereleasinghimfrom his boosterseat. "I'm justgoing to go wait in my office. Will you let me know when they buzz up?" She exits, taking a quick glance backwardattheintercom.

"Of course,"I say, wonderingjust howlate Mr. X will dareto pus.h.i.+t. "Okay, let's fly now, Nanny. Let's fly. an we?" He puts his arms out and does circles around me as I clear theplates.

"G, you might be a little full. Why don't you go get your coloring books and we'll hang out in here so we canhearthebuzzer, okay?"

For an hour Grayer and I sit in silence, pa.s.sing crayons back and forth, looking up intermittently at the silentintercom.

At eight o'clock Mrs. X calls me into her office. She's sitting on the edge of her office chair, an old Vogue openonthedesk.Herminklieswaiting onthearmchair.

"Nanny, would you call Justine to find out if she knows anything? The number's on the emergency list inthepantry."

"Sure,noproblem."

I don't getananswer atworksoI tryher cellphone.

"h.e.l.lo?" I can hear silverware clanking in the backgroundand hate that I'm interrupting her Valentine's dinner.

"h.e.l.lo, Justine?It's Nanny. I'm so sorry to bother you, but Mr. X is runninglate and I was wondering if youmightknowwhatflighthe's on."

"That's all backattheoffice?

"Mrs. X isjustgetting alittle anxious,"I say, trying toimparttheurgencyof thesituation.

"Nanny!I can't findtheredcrayon!" Grayer calls fromthebanquette.

"Look, um, I'm surehe'll beintouch."There's a pausewhereinI heartherestaurantinfull swing behind her. "I'm sorry,Nanny,I reallycan't helpyou."AndthenI justknow,I knowit inthepit ofmystomach.

"Naa-nny,I'm stuck.I needthered!"

"Okay,thanks."

"Well?" Mrs. X asksfromover myshoulder.

"Justine wasn't in the office so she doesn't have his itinerary." I walk around her to search through the bucket of crayons on the table, while Grayer slumps over his coloring book. Maybe this is it. Maybe I should just say something. But what? What do I actually know for a fact, here, really? What I know is thatMs. Chicagowas hereover a monthago. hings could've changedsincethen.Howdo I knowhe's not just running late? "Hey, why don't you check the Weather Channel?" I suggest, bending down to retrieve the red crayon, which has rolled under the bench. "Maybe there are delays out of O'Hare?" I reach my arm up over the table and place the crayon next to Grayer's fist. I stand back up. "I'll call the airline. Whodoeshefly?"

"Justine wouldknow. Oh,andcanyoucall Luteceandmakesuretheydon't giveawayourreservation?"

Shewalkshurriedlyouttowardthelibrary. Grayer slidesdownandrunsacrossthefloortofollowher. Justine's voice mail comes on three times, but, as she's basically left me to fend for myself, I keep calling.

"h.e.l.lo?" Shesoundsannoyed.

"Justine,I'm sosorry.Whatairline doeshefly?"

"American.ButNanny,I reallywouldn't..." Hervoicetrails off.

THE NANNY.

ARIES.

"What?"

"I'm surehe'll call. I wouldn't bother to..."

"Okay.Well, thanks,bye."

I getthenumber frominformation,becauseI don't knowwhatelsetodo.

"h.e.l.lo,thankyouforcallingAmericanAirlines. ThisisWendyspeaking.HowmayI help you?"

"h.e.l.lo.Yes, I'm calling to find out if thereany delays on the flights from Chicagoto NewYork tonight, or if apa.s.sengerXchangedhis flight?"

"I'm sorry,butI can't give outinformationonparticularpa.s.sengers."

"Well, canyoutell meifthereareanydelays?"

"Holdon, I'll check."Theotherlinebeeps.

"h.e.l.lo,thisistheXes'residence. MayI askwho's callingplease?" I say.

"Who's this?" a malevoiceasks.

"Hi,it's Nanny?

"Who?"

"Nanny?

"Whatever. Listen,tellMrs. X myplaneis snowedinhereinChicago. I'll callher tomorrow."

"I'm sureshe'd liketotalkto?

"Can't now."Thelinegoesdead.