kaceyhanxu

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 at the departure from chopped fruit and soy cookies. I pour us each a glass of milk and we dig in. "Oh, what have we here?" We both freeze, cupcakes midway to our mouths. "Nanny bwought thpecial walentine's cucakes," Grayer explains defensively with a mouth full of chocolate. Mrs. X has pulled her long hair up into a loose chignon and finished her makeup. She looks lovely. "Oh, that's so nice. Did you thank Nanny?" "Thank you," he sprays. "The car should be here any minute." She perches on the edge of the banquette, every muscle tensed for the intercom buzzer. She reminds me of myself in high school, all dressed up, just waiting to get the call to find out whose parents were out of town, where we were meeting, where he was going to be. We awkwardly finish our cupcakes while she sits anxiously beside us. "Well.. ." She stands as I'm cleaning Grov off before releasing him from his booster seat. "I'm just going to go wait in my office. Will you let me know when they buzz up?" She exits, taking a quick glance backward at the intercom. "Of course," I say, wondering just how late Mr. X will dare to push it. "Okay, let's fly now, Nanny. Let's fly-can we?" He puts his arms out and does circles around me as I clear the plates. "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 can hear the buzzer, okay?" For an hour Grayer and I sit in silence, passing crayons back and forth, looking up intermittently at the silent intercom. At eight o'clock Mrs. X calls me into her office. She's sitting on the edge of her office chair, an old Vogue open on the desk. Her mink lies waiting on the armchair. "Nanny, would you call Justine to find out if she knows anything? The number's on the emergency list in the pantry." "Sure, no problem." I don't get an answer at work so I try her cell phone. "Hello?" I can hear silverware clanking in the background and hate that I'm interrupting her Valentine's dinner. "Hello, Justine? It's Nanny. I'm so sorry to bother you, but Mr. X is running late and I was wondering if you might know what flight he's on." "That's all back at the office-" "Mrs. X is just getting a little anxious," I say, trying to impart the urgency of the situation. "Nanny! I can't find the red crayon!" Grayer calls from the banquette. "Look, um, I'm sure he'll be in touch." There's a pause wherein I hear the restaurant in full swing behind her. "I'm sorry, Nanny, I really can't help you." And then I just know, I know it in the pit of my stomach. "Naa-nny, I'm stuck. I need the red!" "Okay, thanks." "Well?" Mrs. X asks from over my shoulder. "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 that Ms. Chicago was here over a month ago-things could've changed since then. How do I know he'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. Who does he fly?" "Justine would know. Oh, and can you call Lutece and make sure they don't give away our reservation?" She walks hurriedly out toward the library. Grayer slides down and runs across the floor to follow her. Justine's voice mail comes on three times, but, as she's basically left me to fend for myself, I keep calling. "Hello?" She sounds annoyed. "Justine, I'm so sorry. What airline does he fly?" "American. But Nanny, I really wouldn't..." Her voice trails off. "What?" "I'm sure he'll call. I wouldn't bother to ..." "Okay. Well, thanks, bye." I get the number from information, because I don't know what else to do. "Hello, thank you for calling American Airlines. This is Wendy speaking. How may I help you?" "Hello. Yes, I'm calling to find out if there any delays on the flights from Chicago to New York tonight, or if a passenger X changed his flight?" "I'm sorry, but I can't give out information on particular passengers." "Well, can you tell me if there are any delays?" "Hold on, I'll check." The other line beeps. "Hello, this is the Xes' residence. May I ask who's calling please?" I say. "Who's this?" a male voice asks. "Hi, it's Nanny-" "Who?" "Nanny-" "Whatever. Listen, tell Mrs. X my plane is snowed in here in Chicago. I'll call her tomorrow." "I'm sure she'd like to talk to-" "Can't now." The line goes dead. I click back. "Hello, miss? Thanks for holding. There are no delays. All flights are running on schedule." "Thank you," I say, hanging up. Shit. Shit. Shit. I walk slowly through the living room and go stand outside the library, where Mrs. X and Grayer are seated on the navy leather couch, studying the weather in the Midwest. "So stay tuned, because after the break we'll be talking to Cindy in Little Springs about what it's doing on her back porch," a perky voice says from the television. I feel queasy. "Nanny?" She rounds the door frame, nearly knocking into me. "It just occurred to me-call Justine and get the number of his hotel. The weather's fine-maybe his meeting ran late." "Urn, actually Mr. X just called on the other line, while I was on hold with the airline, and that's what he said. His meeting ran late. So he said he'll call tomorrow night and, uh-" She raises her palm up to silence me. "Why didn't you come get me?" "He, um, he said he had to go-" "I see." She presses her lips together. "And what else did he say?" I can feel small beads of perspiration rolling down my sides. "He said, um, he was just going to spend the night there." I cast my eyes down to avoid her gaze. She takes a step closer. "Nanny, I want you. To tell me. Exactly. What he said." Please don't make me do this. "Well?" She waits for an answer. "He said he was snowed in and he'll call you tomorrow," I say quietly.

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"This is your mother. You may not recognize me as it is not two in the morning and you do not have a suffocating child on your lap, but I assure you that I am one and the same. Listen, bud, today, tomorrow, next week, we will have this conversation. In the meantime I leave you with two little words of wisdom regarding this job of yours. 'Not okay.' I love you. Over and out." Right, this job of mine. What to do about this reservation thing? "Grandma?" "Darling!" "I need to get a table for two for Valentine's dinner anywhere that they don't have paper place mats. What can you do for me?" "Going right for the jackpot today, are we? Can't we start with something smaller, like an afternoon wearing the crown jewels?" "I know, it's for Grayer's mom. It's a long story, but she's going to hunt me until I get her a seat somewhere." "That earmuffs woman? She doesn't deserve the crumbs off your plate." "I know, but can you please just wave your magic wand for me?" "Hmm, call Maurice at Lutece and tell him I'll send him the recipe for the cheesecake next week." "You rock, Grandma." "No, darling, I swing. Love you." "Love you, too." One more call and it's back to les petites ego-centrics. The city is on Valentine's overdrive as I walk over to Elizabeth Arden to meet my grandmother. Since the last Christmas decoration came down in January every store has had a Valentine's theme in the window; even the hardware store has a red toilet-seat cover on display. In Februaries past I would wait with exasperation on line behind men and women buying oysters/champagne/condoms, when I only wanted to pay for my grapefruit/beer/Kleenex and get on with my life. This year, I've got nothing but patience. This is the very first Valentine's Day on which I have not been single. However, in observance of the traditional survival agenda for the one-day-when-being-single-is-just-not-okay, Sarah and I mailed each other Tiger Beat pinups and I am accompanying Grandma to our annual pampering. "Darling, Saint Valentine's Rule Number One," she imparts as we sip our lemon water and admire our lacquered toes. "It's more important to show yourself a little love than to have a man who gives you something in the wrong size and color." "Thanks for the pedicure, Gram." "Anytime, darling. I'm going to go back upstairs for my seaweed wrap. Let's just hope they don't forget me like last time. Really, they should put a little buzzer in your hand. Imagine being found, covered in seaweed and wrapped in a tarp by some poor janitor. Rule Number Two: Never take the last appointment of the day." I thank her profusely, bundle up, bid her farewell, and go to pick up my hot date from nursery school. He comes running out at noon, holding a large, crooked paper heart that leaves a trail of glitter behind him. "Whatcha got there, buddy?" "It's a Valentine. I made it. You can hold it." I take the heart and pass him the juice box I've been keeping warm in my pocket as he settles in the stroller. I look down at the heart, assuming it's for Mrs. X. "Mrs. Butters spelled for me. I told her what to say and she spelled for me. Read it, Nanny, read it." I almost can't speak. "I LOVE NANNY FROM GRAYER ADDISON X." "Yup. That's what I said." "It's beautiful, Grover. Thank you," I say, starting to get teary behind the stroller. "You can hold it," he offers as he grips the juice box. "You know what? I'm going to put it safely in the stroller pocket so it doesn't get hurt. We've got a special afternoon ahead of us." Despite the fact that it's one of the coldest days of the year, I'm under strict instruction not to bring him home until after French class. So I've made an executive decision to ignore all the usual guidelines and take him to California Pizza Kitchen for lunch and then down Third Avenue to the new Muppet movie. I was worried he might be scared of the dark, but he sings and claps all the way through. "That was so funny, Nanny. So funny," he says, as I buckle him back into his stroller and we sing the theme song all the way to French class. After I drop him off with Mme. Maxime to faire les Valentines I run across Madison to Barneys to pick up a little something for H. H. "Can I help you?" the notoriously bitchy blonde behind the Kiehl's counter half asks, half spits. She has never been forgiven for once accusing Sarah of shoplifting the toner she was trying to return. "No, thanks, just browsing." I set my sights on another salesperson, a tall Eurasian man in an expensive-looking black shirt. "Hi, I'm looking for a Valentine's present for my boyfriend." I love saying it. Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend. Yeah, I have the cutest boyfriend. My boyfriend doesn't like wool socks. Oh, my boyfriend works at The Hague, too! "Okay, well, what kind of products does he prefer?" Right, I'm back. "Oh, I don't know. Um, he smells nice. He shaves. Maybe some shave stuff?" He shows me every conceivable product an aspiring model pulling in extra cash at Barneys might ever want to use. "Um, really? Lip liner?" I ask. "Because he plays lacrosse .. ." He shakes his head at my shortsightedness and pulls out more esoteric pastes and lotions. "I don't want to imply that there's anything wrong with him, you know, give him something that fixes anything. He doesn't need fixing." I finally settle on a stainless steel razor and watch him wrap it in red tissue paper and tie a red bow around the black box. Parfait. I greet Grayer outside his classroom with his coat held out. "Bonsoir, Monsieur X. Comment ca va?" "Ca va tres bien, Nanny. Merci beaucoup. Et vous?" he asks, waving his magic fingers at me. "Oui, oui, tres bien." Maxime leans her head out of the classroom to the row of cubbies where I'm bundling Grayer. "Grayer is really coming along with his verbs." She smiles down at him from atop her Charles Jourdan pumps. "But if you could take some time with him to practice the noun list each week, that would be fantastique. If either you or your husband-" "Oh, I'm not his mother." "Ah, mon Dieu! Je m'excuse." "Non, non, pas de problem," I say. "Alors, see you next week, Grayer." I try to push him home quickly because a frigid wind is whipping down Park. "As soon as we get upstairs," I say, crouching in the elevator to loosen his scarf, "I'm going to put some Vaseline on your cheeks, okay? You're getting a little chapped." "Okay. What are we going to do tonight, Nanny? Let's fly! Yeah, I think we should fly as soon as we get upstairs." Lately I've been balancing him on my feet and "flying" him in his 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 Velcro curlers, already in the heat of preparation for her Valentine dinner date with Mr. X. "Hi, guys. Did you have a good day?" "Happy Valentine's Day, Mommy!" Grayer shouts in greeting. "Happy Valentine's Day. Oops, be careful of Mommy's dress." Spatula. "Wow, you look beautiful," I say, pulling off my boots. "You think so?" She looks down in consternation at her midriff. "I still have a little time-Mr. X's flight from Chicago doesn't land for another half hour. Could you come help me for a minute?" "Sure. I was just going to get dinner started. I think Grayer's pretty hungry." "Oh. Well, why don't you just order something in? There's money in the drawer." Well, I never. "Great! Grayer, why don't you come help me order?" I keep a hidden stash of menus in the laundry room for emergencies. "Pizza! I want pizza, Nanny! Pleeeaaase?" 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 she leaves the room. "Hahaha, pizza, Nanny, we're having pizza," he laughs and claps wildly at his unbelievable good fortune. "Mrs. X?" I push the door open. "In here!" she calls out from the dressing room. She's standing in another floor-length red gown and there's a third hanging up behind her. "Oh, my God! Wow, it's beautiful." This one has thicker straps and red velvet leaf appliques trailing around the skirt. The color is a stunning combination with her thick black hair. She looks in the mirror and shakes her head. "No, it's just not right." I look carefully at her in the dress. I realize I've never seen her arms or sternum before. She looks like a ballet dancer, tiny and all sinew. But she isn't filling out the dress in the bust and it's hanging all wrong. "I think maybe it's the bustline," I say tentatively. She nods her head. "Breast-feeding," she says derisively. "Let me try on the third. Would you like some wine?" I notice the open bottle of Sancerre on the dresser. "No, thank you. I shouldn't." "Oh, come on. Go take a glass off the bar." I walk through to the piano room where I can hear the strains of "I'm Madeline! I'm Madeline!" coming from the library. When I get back she's come out in a beautiful Napoleonic raw-silk gown, looking like Josephine. "Oh, much better," I say. "The empire waist really suits you." "Yeah, but it isn't very sexy, is it?" "Well... no, it's beautiful, but it depends on the look you're going for." "Breathtaking, Nanny. I want to be breathtaking." We both smile as she slips behind the Chinese screen. "I've got one more." "Are you going to keep all of these?" I eye the zeros on the dangling price tags. "No, of course not. I'll return the ones I don't wear. Oh, that reminds me." She sticks her head around the screen. "Can you take the rest back to Bergdorf's for me tomorrow?" "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 sexy 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 realize that I am rooting for her, rooting for them. "So what do you think? Earrings or no earrings? I need to wear this necklace because my husband gave it to me." She holds up a strand of diamonds. "Isn't it beautiful? But I don't want to overaccessorize." "Do you have any little studs?" She starts going through her jewelry box and I take my wine over to the velvet bench. "These?" She holds up a pair of diamond studs-"Or these?"- and rubies. "No, definitely the diamonds. You don't want to overdo the red." "I went to Chanel today and got the perfect lipstick and look!" She sticks out her foot. Her toes are painted in Chanel Redcoat. "Perfect," I say, taking a sip. She puts in the studs and gives herself a quick swipe with the lipstick. "What do you think?" She turns for me. "Oh, wait!" She goes over to the Manolo Blahnik bag on the floor and pulls out a box containing a pair of exquisite black silk sandals. "Too much?" "No, no. They're gorgeous," I say, as she slips them on and turns for me again. "So, what do you think? Anything missing?" "Well, I'd take the curlers out." She laughs. "No, really, it's perfect." I give her another once-over. "Um, it's just that..." "What?" "Do you have a thong?" She quickly looks backward in the mirror. "Oh, my God. You're right." She starts rifling through the plastic bags in her lingerie drawer. "I think Mr. X gave me a pair on our honeymoon." Oh, brilliant, Nan! Brill-i-ant! Send her combing through the panty drawer. "You can always go commando," I suggest urgently from the velvet bench where I'm downing the rest of my wine. "Got 'em!" she says and holds up an exquisite, delicate black La Perla thong with cream silk embroidery, which I am pray-ing is hers. The doorbell rings. "NANNYYY! The pizza's here!"