The following Monday on my way to meet Mrs. X, I make a quick stop at my favorite stationery store to stock up on Post-its. Today my Filofax only has two Post-its: a tiny pink one imploring me to "BUY MORE POST-ITS" and a green one reminding me that I have "Coffee, Mrs. X, 11:15." I pull off the pink one and toss it in the trash as I continue heading south to La Patisserie Gout du Mois, our meeting place. As I cut across to Park avenue I pass women in fall suits, all holding sheets of monogrammed stationery in their hands. Each one walks in tandem with a shorter, dark-skinned woman, who nods emphatically back at them.
"Ballet? Do you understand?" the woman next to me shouts to her nodding companion as we wait for the light to change. "On Mondays Josephina has Ballet!"I smile sympathetically at the uniformed woman to show solidarity. No bones about it, training just plain sucks. And it sucks significantly more, depending on who you're working for.
"The agency said you can cook. Can you cook?" a Pucci-clad mother interrogates on the corner.
I push open the heavy glass door of the patisserie and see Mrs. X already seated, going over her own list. She stands, revealing a lavender knee-length skirt, which perfectly matches the cardigan tied around her shoulders. No longer in her youthful white shift, she looks older than she did in the park. Despite her girlish ponytail I'm guessing she's in her early forties. "Hi, Nanny, thanks so much for meeting me early. Would you like some Coffee?""That sounds perfect, thank you," I say, taking a seat with my back to the wood-paneled wall and smoothing the damask napkin onto my lap.
"Waiter, another cafe au lait and could you bring us a breadbasket?""Oh, you don't need to do that," I say.
"Oh, no, it's the best. That way you can pick what you want." The waiter brings over a Pierre Deux basket brimming with breads and little jars of jam. I help myself to a brioche.
"They have the best pastry here," she says, taking a croissant. "Which reminds me, I prefer that Grayer stay away from refined flour.""Of course," I mumble, mouth full.
"Did you have a nice weekend?"I quickly swallow. "Sarah-my best friend from Chapin had a little farewell party last night before everyone goes back to school. Now it's just me and the California people who have off till October! Tell Grayer to go to Stanford," I laugh.
She smiles.
"So, why'd you transfer from Brown?" she asks, pulling one claw off her croissant.
"They had a stronger child development program at NYU," I reply, trying to tread lightly here, in case I'm talking to a Brown alum.
"I really wanted to go to Brown," she says.
"But I won a scholarship to UConn." She drops the croissant to play with the diamond heart dangling from her necklace.
"That's great," I say, trying to imagine a time when she would have needed a scholarship to do anything.
She glances down at her plate. "After graduation I moved here to run Gagosian, the art gallery." She smiles again.
"Wow, that must have been amazing.""It was a lot of fun," she says, nodding, "but you can't really do it when you have a child, it's a full-time life, parties, trips, a lot of shmoozing, a lot of late nights.""Well, let's just go over the week. I've typed this all up for you, so you can review it later. We'll walk over to school now, so Grayer can see us together and get the sense that I'm trusting you with him. That should relax him. He has a play date at one thirty, so that'll give you just enough time to have lunch in the park and not overwhelm him. Then tomorrow you and Caitlin can both spend the afternoon with him, so you can get a sense of his routine and he can see the authority being shared between you. I'd appreciate it if you didn't discuss the transition with her at this point.""Of course," I say, trying to absorb it all, "Thank you for breakfast.""Oh, don't mention it." She stands, pulling a blue folder that says "Nanny" out of her Hermes bag and sliding it across the table. "I'm so glad Tuesdays and Thursdays fit into your class schedule. I think it'll be great for Grayer to have someone young and fun to play with. I'm sure he gets tired of boring old Mom!""Grayer seems great," I say, recalling his giggles in the park.
"Well, he has his little things, like any kid, I suppose."I gather my bag, glancing down and noticing her lavender silk heels for the first time. "God, those are beautiful! Are they Prada?" I ask, recognizing the silver buckle.
"Oh, thank you." She turns her ankle. "Yes, they are. You really like them?" I nod. "You don't think they're too ... loud?""Oh, no," I say, following her out of the cafe.
"My best friend just had a baby and her feet went up a whole size. She let me pick out what I wanted, but I... I don't know." She glances down at her shoes in consternation as we wait for the light. "I guess I've just gotten used to wearing flats.""No, they're great. You should definitely keep them."She smiles, delighted, as she slides on her sunglasses. |