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Do you still have family there?" I ask. "Well, my husband and sons are there." She blinks a couple of times and looks down. "Oh," I say. "Yes, we all came together, to find work. I was an engineer in San Salvador. But there were no more jobs and we hoped to make money here. Then my husband was rejected for the green card and had to go back with our sons, because I could not work and take care of them." "How often do you see them?" I ask as Grayer shifts fitfully in his sleep. "I try to go home for two weeks at Christmastime, but this year Mr. and Mrs. Zuckerman needed me to go to France." She folds and unfolds Darwin'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 already rolled Sima up in the Story Time rug and smuggled her to the first safe house she could find. "No, I don't keep a picture on me. It's too ... hard . . ." She smiles. "Someday when Grayer comes to play at Darwin's house, I will show you then. What about you? Do you have children?" "No. Me? No, thank God." We both laugh. "A boyfriend, then?" "I'm working on that," and I begin to tell her about H. H. We share slices of our own stories, the parts 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 passing grade in, and who has been home less than one month in the last twenty-four. For the past week I've been arriving at seven to dress Grayer for school, before dropping him off with Mrs. Butters and running madly down to class. Mrs. X never emerges from her room in the mornings and is out every afternoon, so I was surprised when Connie told me she was waiting for me in her office. "Mrs. X?" I knock on the door. "Come in." I push the door open with slight trepidation, but find her seated at the desk, fully dressed in a cashmere cardigan and slacks. Despite her best efforts with cream blush, she still looks drawn. "What are you doing home so early?" she asks. "Grayer had a run-in with some green paint so I brought him home to change before ice skating-" The phone rings and she motions for me to stay. "Hello?. . . 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 make the right decision ... 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 . . . What were you saying?" "The paint-don't worry, he wasn't wearing the Collegiate sweatshirt when it happened. He made a really beautiful tree picture-" "Doesn't he have a change of clothes at school?" "Yeah, I'm sorry-he used them last week when Giselle dumped glue on him and I forgot to replace it." "What if he hadn't had time to change?" "I'm sorry. I'll bring it tomorrow." I start to leave. "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. Where is he?" "He's watching Connie dust." Your chair-rail moldings. With a toothbrush. "Good, have a seat." She gestures to one of the upholstered wing chairs across from her desk. "Nanny, I have something terrible to tell you." She casts her eyes down to her hands twisting in her lap. I can't breathe. I brace myself for panties. "We got some very bad news this morning," she says slowly, struggling to get the words out. "Grayer got rejected from Collegiate." "No." I quickly wipe the look of relief off my face. "I don't believe it." "I know-it'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 enthusiastic about the college placements at those schools." "But he's adorable. He's smart and articulate. He's funny. He shares well. I just don't get it." I mean, lose the tie, what's not to love about this kid? "I've been going over everything all morning, just trying to make sense of it." She looks out the window. "Our application coach told us he was a shoo-in for Collegiate." "My father did say this was the most competitive year they've ever had. They were inundated with qualified applicants and probably had to make some really tough choices." Keeping in mind that the applicants are four and you can't exactly ask them if they have any thoughts on the federal deficit or where they see themselves in five years. "I thought your father liked Grayer when he met him," she asks pointedly, referring to the rainy afternoon I took him over to my house to pet Sophie. "He did. They sang 'Rainbow Connection' together." "Hmmm. Interesting." "What?" "No, nothing. Just interesting, that's all." "My dad's not really involved at all with the admissions process." "Right. Well, I wanted to talk to you because I'm concerned that dressing him in that Collegiate sweatshirt may have set Grayer's expectations in a certain direction and I want to ensure that-" She's interrupted by the phone. "Hold on." She answers it. "Hello? Oh, hi, Sally .. . No, our letters haven't come yet... Oh, Collegiate. Congratulations, that's excellent... Well, Ryan's a very special little boy . . . Yes, that would be great. I know Grayer would love to go to school with Ryan ... Yes, dinner would be lovely . .. Oh, the four of us? I'll have to check my husband's schedule. Let's talk after the weekend... Great. Bye!" She takes a deep breath and clenches her jaw. "Where was I?" "Grayer's expectations?" "Oh, yes. I'm concerned that your encouragement of his fixation on Collegiate may have set him up for a potentially deleterious self-esteem adjustment." "I..." "No, please don't feel bad. It's really my fault for allowing you to do it. I should have been more on top of you." She sighs and shakes her head. "But I spoke to my pediatrician this morning and he suggested a Long-term Development Consultant who specializes in coaching parents and caregivers through this transition. She'll be coming by tomorrow while Grayer's in piano and she's asked to speak with you separately to assess your role in his development." "Great. That sounds like a good idea." I go through the doorway. "Urn." I stick my head back in. "Should I not let him wear it today?" "What?" She reaches for her coffee. "The sweatshirt." "Oh. Well, he can wear it today and then we'll let the consultant tell us how to handle this situation tomorrow." "Okay, great." I go back out to where Grayer, seated in the banquette, is watching Connie polish the stove, while absentmindedly playing with the tie around his neck, and wonder if perhaps we're not focusing on the wrong piece of apparel. I sit in the chair next to Mrs. X's desk, waiting for the consultant, and surreptitiously try to read, upside down, the notes scrawled on Mrs. X's notepad. Even though it's probably nothing more than a glorified grocery list, the fact that I have been left alone in here makes me feel as if I should be covert. If I had a camera hidden in a button on my sweater I would frantically try to photograph everything on the desk. I'm starting to make myself laugh at the idea of it when the woman enters, briefcase first. "Nanny." She reaches out to firmly shake my hand. "I'm Jane. Jane Gould. How are you today?" She speaks just a little too loudly, eyeing me over her glasses as she puts her briefcase down on Mrs. X's desk. "Fine, thanks. How are you?" I am suddenly very cheerful and also a little too loud. "Just fine. Thank you for asking." She crosses her arms over her cranberry-colored blazer and nods rhythmically at me. She has very big lips made up in the exact same cranberry, bleeding into the lines around her mouth. I nod back at her. She looks down at her watch. "So, Nanny. I'm just going to get my pad out here and we'll get started." She proceeds to mention each action as she does it until she's seated in Mrs. X's chair, pen poised. "Nanny, our objective over the course of the next forty-five minutes is to assess Grayer's perceptions and expectations. I would like you to share with me the understanding you currently hold of your role and responsibilities surrounding Grayer's critical path with regard to the next stratum of his schooling." "Okay," I say, replaying her statement in my head to locate the question. "Nanny, in your first quarter at the X residence, how would you characterize your performance in relation to Grayer's academic activity?" "Good. I mean, I was picking him up from school. But, honestly, there wasn't a lot of academic activity to-" "I see, so you do not consider yourself an active, dynamic participant in his process. How would you describe your agenda during his scheduled playtime?" "Right... Grayer really likes to play trains. Oh, and dress up. So I try to do activities that he enjoys. I wasn't aware that he had an agenda for playtime." "Do you engage him in puzzles?" "He doesn't like puzzles so much." "Math problems?" "He's a little young-" "When was the last time you practiced circles?" "I'm sure sometime in the last week we had the crayons out-" "Do you play the Suzuki tapes?" "Only when he takes a bath." "Have you been reading to him from the Wall Street Journal?" "Well, actually-" "The Economist.7" "Not really-" "The Financial Times?" "Should I be?" She sighs heavily and scribbles furiously on her pad. She begins again. "How many bilingual meals are you serving him a week?" "We speak French on Tuesday night, but I usually serve veggieburgers." "And you are attending the Guggenheim on what basis?" "We go to the Museum of Natural History-he loves the rocks." "What methodology are you following to dress him?" "He picks out his clothes or Mrs. X does. As long as he'll be comfortable-" "You don't utilize an Apparel Chart, then?" "Not really-" "And I suppose you are not documenting his choices with him on a Closet Diagram." "Yeah, no." "Nor are you having him translate his color and sizes into the Latin." "Maybe later this year." She looks back at me and nods for a while. I shift in my seat and smile. She leans across the desk and takes off her glasses. "Nanny, I'm going to have to raise a flag here." "Okay." I lean in to meet her. "I have to question whether you're leveraging your assets to escalate Grayer's performance." Having let the cat out of the bag, she leans back and rests her hands in her lap. I sense that I should feel insulted. 'Leverage my assets?' Umm, anyone? "I'm sorry to hear that," I say earnestly, as the one thing abundantly clear is that I should be feeling sorry. "Nanny, I understand you are getting your degree in arts-in-edu-cation so, frankly, I'm surprised by the lack of depth surrounding your knowledge base here." Okay, now I know I'm insulted. "Well, Jane." She straightens at the sound of her name. "I am trained to work with children who have far fewer resources at their disposal than Grayer." "I see, so you don't perceive this opportunity to be in an arena in which you are a value-add." What? "I want to add value to Grayer, but he's really stressed out right now-" She looks skeptically at me. "Stressed?" "Yes, he's stressed. And I feel-and I am only an undergrad here, Jane, so I'm sure you'll take this with a grain of salt-the best thing I can give him is some downtime so that his imagination can grow without being forced in one direction or another." Blood rushes to my face and I know I've gone too far, but being made to feel like an idiot by yet another middle-aged woman in this office is just a bit more than I can handle.
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