The Nanny Diaries Part 18

"So, I was thinking, maybe Play s.p.a.ce?" I announce, realizing I still have my coat on as Darwin releasesGrayer.

"YEAH!"Theboys jump upanddownontopofeachother.

"Okay."Sima nods. "Plays.p.a.cesoundsvery good."I handher Darwin's jacketandpullonmyboots.

While there are two Play s.p.a.ces, one on East Eighty-fifth and one on Broadway in the Nineties, we head up to the one on the East Side, as it has marginally cleaner sand. These indoor playgrounds are Manhattan's version of a fully equippedbas.e.m.e.nt recroom.And,likeeverything elseinthebig city, it's for rent. So, similar to motels with hourly rates, a twenty gets you and your charge a good two hours to exhausteachother ontheirequipment.

Sima standsonthesidewalkwith theboys whileI getthestrollersoutof thetrunkofthecab.

"IS NOT!".

"ISTOO!".

"CanI help you?" sheasks,evading Darwin's kick.

"No,"I grunt. "That's okay."I'm justgratefultobeoutofhis reach.

I maneuver the strollers to the sidewalk and we each grab a small hand. Probably to deter perverts from window-shopping, the s.p.a.ce is up on the second level and can only be reached by climbing an enormous, blue-carpeted staircase of child-size stairs that seems to stretch all the way up to wherever nannies go when they die. Grayer, undaunted, grabs the child-height railing and starts hauling himself up.

"Darwin, go up. Go up," Sima instructs. "Not down. Up." Darwin, completely disregarding her, plays some sort of leapfrog game that threatens to throw the methodical Grayer backward into a neck!breakingfall. I followclosely behind, draggingthecollapsedstrollers, myheelshangingofftheedgeof eachstair.

When we eventually get to the top I park the strollers in the Stroller Corral and prepare to check in. Becauseoftheinclementweathertheplaceis packedandwe geton alonglineof overbundledchildren, exasperatednannies,andtheoccasionalmotherputting inherhourofquality time.

"Elizabeth,wecanmakewee-wee afterwe checkin.Pleasejustholdit!"

"h.e.l.lo and welcome to Play s.p.a.ce! Who's checking in?" an overenthusiastic man in his mid-thirties asks frombehindthebrightredcounter.

"He is!" I say, pointing down at Grayer. The man looks confused. "We are," I say, pa.s.sing him Mrs. X's members.h.i.+p card. He looks her up in the files and once I hand over twenty dollars we each get name tagsforourselves andonetoputonthestroller incaseitwantstomakefriends.

"h.e.l.lo,mynameis Grayer. I'm with Nanny,"his reads.

"h.e.l.lo, my name is Nanny. I'm with Grayer," mine reads. We are instructed to wear them prominently and I plaster mine directly over my left ventricle, while Grayer prefers to stick his on the edge of his s.h.i.+rt, just above the dangling card and next to his father's tie. After Sima and Darwin are similarly linked, the four of us go and put our coats in our designated cubbies, along with our boots. In the food area I fork over another twenty for our lunch. wo small peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly sandwiches and two juiceboxes.

"DIE! DIE!".

"KILL HIM INHISb.l.o.o.d.yHEAD!".

"All right, enough already!" The Wicked Witch has a headache. "If you two can't eat lunch like nice, peace-loving young gentlemen, Darwin and Sima will have to sit at another table." They manage to argue in dulcet tones for the remainder of the meal while Sima and I exchange wan smiles across the table. ShepicksatherbolognasandwichandI make afewattempts tobegin a conversation,butDarwin choosestheseopportunemomentstoflingGoldfis.h.i.+nher face.

Before we can release them into the pen we go wash hands. The Technicolor bathrooms all have little sinks, lowtoilets, andhigh latches. Grayer pees like a champ and then lets me push up his sleeves so he canwashhis hands.

"NO!I DON'TWANTTO!YOUDOIT!YOUPEE!"We canhearDarwininthenextbathroom.

I lean over and kiss Grayer on the top of his head. "Okay, G, let's. .h.i.t the slopes," I say, as I pa.s.s him a papertowel sohecandryhis handsandwhateverelsegot sprayedbythesink.

"Daddysays thatinAspirin."

"Doeshe. Comeon." I throwout thetowelandextendmyhand,buthedoesn't move.

"When's mydaddytakingme toAspirin?" heasks.

"Oh, Grove ..." I crouch down. "I don't know, I'm, not sure if you are going skiing this year." He continuestolookatmequestion-ingly. "Haveyouaskedyourmom?"

He angles his body away from me, crossing his arms over the tie. "My mom says not to talk about him, sodon't. Don't talkabouthim."

"Grayer,comeon!" Darwinyells, kickingthedoorat.i.tsbase.

"Hey! Peoplehavetopeeouthere!"A woman startspoundingabovehim.

"Grover,ifyouhavequestions,it's always okayto?I say, standingandunlatchingthedoor.

"Don't talktome,"hesays,runningpast metojoinDarwinbythegate.

"You have some nerve!" The woman who's been waiting hustles her child past me to the toilet. "I think it's unconscionableto keep a little girl waiting thatlong!" She narrows her heavily made-up eyes at me. "Who do you work for?" I take in her sh.e.l.lacked hair, her inch-long fingernails, her Versace blouse. "I meanit,whodoyouworkfor?"

"G.o.d,"I mutter,pus.h.i.+ngpasthertoletGrayer intothepen.

Sima andI lift theboys ontothebrightblueslide. I lookover at her to gaugeif she's one of those caregivers who feel compelled to staywithin two feet of their charges at all times,taggingalongonevery move.

"I thinktheyshould ..."shesays,pausing,clearlytryingtoreadme,aswell.

I nod,waiting forthesign.

"... beokayif theyaretogether?Whatdoyouthink?"

"I agree,"I saywithrelief, givenGrayer's moodandDarwin's aggression. "CanI treatyoutodessert?"

Oncewe've settled at a table in full view of the slide, I pa.s.s Sima a cupcakeand a napkin. "I'm glad you don't mindletting theboys play. I usually tryto setGrayer freeandthencome up here where I cankeep an eye on him and do myhomework. But there's always some nosy caregiver who's, like, 'Um, Grayer's in the ... sandbox.'And I'm supposed to fly across the room with a cry of 'Not... THE SANDBOX!' " I laugh,covering mymouthtokeepcrumbs fromfallingout.

Sima giggles. "Yesterday, at a play date, the mother wanted me to color with Darwin, but if I put my crayon onhis drawing, he screams. Butshemademe sit there all afternoon,holdingthecrayon nearthe paper."Sheunwrapshercupcake. "HaveyoubeenwithGrayerforverylong?"

"Seven months. inceSeptember. Howaboutyou?" I ask inreturn.

"Two years now I have been with Mr. and Mrs. Zuckerman." She nods her head and her dark hair falls in front of her face. I'm guessing thatshe's in her early forties. "We used to play with the other girl, she wasverynice.Whatwashername?" Shesmiles andtakes asipfromher miniaturecartonof milk.

"Caitlin.Yeah, I thinkshewentbacktoAustralia."

"She had a sister there who was very sick. In the hospital. She was saving up to visit her last time we had a playdate."

"That's terrible, I had no idea. She was wonderful, Grayer still really misses her? Out of the corner of myeye I seeDarwin,poised 171 on the yellow plastic step above Grayer, pulling Mr. X's tie taut around G's neck. For a brief moment Grayer's choking. isfaceturningredashereachesup his handstoclutchathis throat.

Then the knot of the tie gives way in one swift tug. Darwin rips it from around Grayer's red neck and runs, laughing, to the other side of the room, disappearing into the climbing apparatus. Sima and I leap up,dispatchingourselves totheopposingfronts.

"Grove,it's okay,"I calloutasI approach.

He gives forth a blast of rage toward Darwin that silences the entire room. "GIVE THAT BACK!!

THAT'S MY DADDY'S!! GIVE IT BACK!!!!!!!" He starts to sob and shake. "MY DADDY'S SO MADAT YOU!!HE'S SOMAD!!!!".

Hecollapses,shakingwith theforceofhis tears. "Mydaddy's somad,he's somad."

I pull him onto my lap and start murmuring in his ear as I rock him. "You are such a good boy. n.o.body is mad at you. Your daddy's not mad at you. Your mommy's not mad at you. We all love you so much, Grove."

I carryhimuptothefoodarea,whereSima is waitingwith thetie.

"I... want," he gasps, his breath coming in gulps, "my.. . mommy." I knot the tie gently around his neck andhelphimupontooneofthegreenbenchesnexttome,making a pillowforhimwith mysweater.

"Sih-muh?AreyouSih-muh?" thewoman fromthebathroomasks.

"Yes?"

"Your Darwinisontheslidebyhimself," sheannounces.

"Thankyou."Sima smiles graciously.

"Byhim-self,"themothersays again,asifSima isdeaf.

"Okay,thankyou."Sima rolls her eyes atme, but goes over tomakesureDarwin doesn't somehowhurt himself onthethree-footslide,whileI rubGrayer's backashefallsasleep.

I watch as she reaches out a hand to help Darwin place his legs over the top in preparation for his descent. He rejectsher offerbysmackingher squarelyon thehead, thenlaughsandflies downtheslide. She stands for a moment with both hands on her head and then walks slowly back to our table and sits down.

"Darwin seems a little intense," I say. Actually, he seems like a potential homicidal maniac, but she must have stayed for a reason and ten dollars an hour isn't enough to subject oneself to gross bodily harm.

"Oh, no. He's just having a lot of anger because he has a new baby brother at home." She reaches up to rubher head.

"Haveyouever talkedtothemabouthowhehits you?" I asktentatively.

"No. Well, they are so busy with the new baby. And he can be a very good boy." She takes little breaths a.s.shespeaks.Thisishardlythefirsttime I've seenthis; everyplaygroundhasatleastonenannygetting the s.h.i.+t kicked out of her by an angry child. Clearly she doesn't want to talk about it, so I change the topic.

"You havesuch abeautifulaccent." I foldupthewrapperfrommycupcakeinto alittle square.

"I movedherefromSanSalvadortwoyearsago."Shewipesherhandswith a napkin.

"Doyoustill havefamilythere?" I ask.

"Well, myhusbandandsonsarethere."Sheblinks acoupleoftimesandlooksdown.

"Oh,"I say.

"Yes, we all came together, to find work. I was an engineer in San Salvador. But there were no more jobsand we hopedtomakemoneyhere. Thenmyhusbandwasrejectedforthegreencard andhadtogo backwith oursons,becauseI couldnotworkandtakecareofthem."

"Howoftendoyouseethem?" I askasGrayer s.h.i.+ftsfitfully inhis sleep.

"I trytogohome fortwoweeksatChristmastime, b.u.t.this year 1 73.

Mr. andMrs. Zuckermanneededme togotoFrance."ShefoldsandunfoldsDarwin's sweater.

"Do you have pictures of your children? I bet they're beautiful." I am not sure what the positive spin is on this situation or where to take this conversation. I know if my mom were here she would have alreadyrolledSima upintheStoryTime rugandsmuggledhertothefirst safehouseshecouldfind.

"No,I don't keep a pictureonme. It's too ... hard . . ." Shesmiles. "SomedaywhenGrayer comes toplay atDarwin's house,I will showyouthen.Whataboutyou? Doyouhavechildren?"

"No.Me?No,thankG.o.d."We bothlaugh.

"Aboyfriend,then?"

"I'm working onthat," andI begin totell her about H. H. We shareslices of our own stories, theparts of our lives the Zuckermans and the Xes neither partake in nor know about, amid all the bright lights and colors, surrounded by a cacophony of screaming. It starts to snow outside the big windows and I tuck my stocking feet beneath me while she rests her chin on her outstretched arm. Thus I while away the afternoon with a woman who has a higher degree than I will ever receive, in a subject I can't get a pa.s.singgradein,andwhohasbeenhomeless thanonemonthinthelasttwenty-four.

For the past week I've been arriving at seven to dress Grayer for school, before dropping him off with Mrs. b.u.t.ters and running madly down to cla.s.s. Mrs. X never emerges from her room in the mornings andisoutevery afternoon,soI wa.s.surprisedwhenConnietoldme shewaswaitingformeinher office.

"Mrs. X?" I knockonthedoor.

"Come in." I push the door open with slight trepidation, but find her seated at the desk, fully dressed in a cashmerecardiganandslacks. Despiteherbestefforts with creamblush,shestill looksdrawn.

"Whatare youdoinghome soearly?" sheasks.

"Grayer had a run-in with some green paint so I brought him home to change before ice skating? The phoneringsandshemotionsforme tostay.

"h.e.l.lo?. . . Oh, hi, Joyce ... No, the letters haven't come yet... I don't know, slow zip code, I guess . .."

Her voice still sounds hollow. "All the schools she applied to? Really? That's fabulous ... Well, which one are you going to choose?.. . Well, I don't know as much about the girls' schools... I'm sure you'll maketherightdecision ... Excellent. Bye."

She turns back to me. "Her daughter got into every school she applied to. I don't get it, she isn't even cute . . . Whatwere you saying?"

"The paint. on't worry, he wasn't wearing the Collegiate sweats.h.i.+rt when it happened. He made a reallybeautifultreepicture?

"Doesn't hehave a changeofclothesatschool?"

"Yeah,I'm sorry. eusedthemlastweekwhenGiselledumped glueonhim andI forgottoreplaceit."

"Whatif hehadn't hadtime tochange?"

"I'm sorry. I'll bringittomorrow."I starttoleave.

"Oh, Nanny?" I stick my head back in. "While I've got you, I need to have a talk with you about Grayer's applications.Whereis he?"

"He's watchingConniedust."Your chair-railmoldings. Witha toothbrush.

"Good, have a seat." She gestures to one of theupholsteredwing chairs across from her desk. "Nanny, I havesomethingterribletotellyou."Shecasts her eyes downtoherhandstwisting inherlap.

I can't breathe. I bracemyself forpanties.

"We got some very bad news this morning," she says slowly, struggling to get the words out. "Grayer gotrejectedfromCollegiate."

"No."I quicklywipe thelookofreliefoffmyface. "I don't believe it."

"I know. t's just awful. And, to make matters even worse, he's been wait-listed at St. David's and St.

Bernard's. Wait-listed." She shakes her head. "So now our fingers are crossed for Trinity, but if, for some reason, that too doesn't work out, then we're just going to be left with his safeties and I'm not enthusiasticaboutthecollegeplacements atthoseschools."