The nanny Diaries

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (Downtime)

THE NANNY DIARIES

Mammy felt that she owned the O'Haras , body and soul , that their secrets were her secrets; and even a hint of mystery was enough to set her upon the trail so recklessly as a bloodhound.

---GONE WITH THE WIND

°°°°

"Grandma's been looking all over for you so we can cut the cake," I say, stepping into my grandmother's dressing room, where my father has found respite from the joint New Year's Eve/ Fiftieth Birthday Party she insisted on throwing for the "one son God blessed her with."

"Quick, close the door! I'm not ready yet --- too many of those people out there."

Despite the many mingling artists and writers,  the majority of attendees this evening are donning tuxedos, which is the one thing, as my father will emphatically inform you, he does not wear.

For anyone. Ever. "Who are we, the goddamn Kennedys?" has involve him in the planning of this black-tie affair.

I, on the other hand, never have to be asked twice to step into a gown and am all too eager for the rare occasions on which I can hang up my sweatpants and head out like a lady.

"Not to be too much of an enabler, but I come bearing gifts," I say, handing him a glass of champagne.

He smiles and takes a long gulp, placing the glass down on top of her mirrored dressing table beside his propped-up feet.

He drops the Times crossword he's been working on, motioning for me to sit.

I polo onto the plush cream carpet in a pile of black chiffon and take a sip out of my own flute, while muffled laughter and big band music wafts in.

"Dad, you really should come out --- it's not so bad. That writer guy is here, the one from China. And he's not even wearing a tie --- you could hang out with him."

He takes off his glasses. "I'd rather spend time with my daughter. How's it going, pixie? Feeling better?"

A fresh wave of rage washes over me, breaking the celebratory mood I've enjoyed for the most of the evening. "Ugh, that woman!"

I slump forward. "I worked, like, eighty hours a week for the past month and for what? I'll tell you for what. Earmuffs!"

I sigh exasperatedly, looking out through my hair to where the row of black kitten heels along the wall transitions into a colourful array of Chinese slippers.

"Ah, yes. It's been a whole fifteen minutes since we had this conversation."

"What conversation?" my mother asks as she slips in the door with a plate of hors d'oeuvres in one hand and an open bottle of champagne in the other.

"I'll give you a clue," he says, wryly, while holding up his glass for a refill. "You wear them instead of a hat."

"God! Are we back to this again? Come on, Nan, it's New Year's Eve! Why don't you take a night off?"

She falls back on the chaise, tucking her stocking feet up under her, and hands him the plate.

I sit up and reach for the bottle.