"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 been his thoughtful retort whenever my grandmother attempted to 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 plop 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 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 exasper-atedly, looking out through my hair to where the row of black kitten heels along the wall transitions into a colorful 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 on 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. "Mom, I can't! I can't let it go! She might as well have just spit in my fate and put a bow on my nose. Everyone knows you get a hefty Christmas bonus; it's just how it's done. Why else would I have put in so much extra time? The bonus is for the extra, it's the recognition! Every stupid person that works for them got money and a handbag! And I got-"

"Earmuffs," they chime in as I pour myself another glass.

"You know what my problem is? I go out of my way to make it seem natural that I'm raising her son while she's at the manicurist.

All the little stories I tell and the 'Sure, I'd be happy tos' make her feel like I live there. And then she forgets that I'm doing a job-she's totally convinced herself she's letting me come over for a play date!" I grab a bit of caviar from Dad's plate. "What do you think, Mom?"

"I think you've got to confront this woman and lay down the law or let it go already. Honestly, you should hear yourself, you've been talking about this for days. You're wasting a perfectly good party on her, and somebody in this family, other than your grandmother, should take advantage of the band out there and dance." She looks pointedly at my dad as he pops the last crab puff in his mouth.

"I want to! I want to lay down the law, but I don't even know where to begin."

"What's to begin? Just tell her that this is not working for you and if she wants you to continue as Grayer's nanny then a few things are going to change."

"Right," I say with a snort. "When she asks me how my vacation was I just launch into a diatribe? She would slap me."

"Well, then you're really in business," Dad pipes in. "Because you can sue for assault and none of us will ever have to work again."

My mother, now fully involved, plows on. "Then you just smile warmly, put your arm around her and say, 'Gee, you make it hard to work for you.' Let her know in a friendly way that this is not okay behavior."

"Mooommmm! You have no idea who I'm working for. There is no putting your arm around this woman. She's the Ice Queen."

"All right. That's it. Throw her the mink," Mom commands. "It's Rehearsal Time!" These rehearsals are the cornerstone of my upbringing and have helped me to practice everything from college interviews to breaking up with my sixth-grade boyfriend. Dad tosses me the stole that's been hanging next to him and reaches over to pour us another round.

"Okay, you're Mrs. X, I'm you. Hit it."

I clear my throat. "Welcome back, Nanny. Would you mind taking my dirty underwear with you to Grayer's swimming class and scrubbing it while you're in the pool? Thanks so much, the chlorine just works wonders!" I pull the mink up around my shoulders and affect a fake smile.

My mother's voice is calm and rational. "I want to help you. I want to help Grayer. But I need some help from you, so that I can keep doing my job to the best of my abilities. And this means that we need to try together to make sure that I am working the hours upon which we both agreed."

"Oh, you work here? I thought we had adopted you!" I raise my pinky to my mouth in mock alarm.

"Well, while it would be an honor to be related to you, I am here to do a job, and if I'm going to be able to keep doing it then I know you'll be more conscious of respecting my boundaries from now on." Dad claps loudly. I fall back on the floor.

"That'll never work," I groan.

"Nan, this woman's not God! She's just a person. You need a mantra. You need to go in there like Lao-tzu ... Say no to say yes. Say it with me!"

"I say no to say yes. I say no to say yes," I murmur with her as I stare up at the floral wallpaper on the ceiling.

Just as we hit a fever pitch, the door flies open and music floods the room. I roll my head to see my grandmother, cheeks flushed to match her layers of red satin, leaning against the door frame.

"Darlings! Another masterpiece of a party and my son's hiding in the closet at his fiftieth, just like he did at his fifth. Come, dance with me." In a cloud of perfume, she sashays over to my father and kisses him on the cheek. "Come on, birthday boy, you can leave your tie and cummerbund here, but at least dance a mambo with your mother before the clock strikes twelve!"

He rolls his eyes at the rest of us, but the champagne has worn him down. He pulls off his tie and stands up.

"And you, lady." She looks down on me sprawled at her feet. "Bring the mink and let's boogie."

"Sorry to disappear, Gran. It's just this whole earmuffs thing."

"Good lord! Between your father and his tuxedo and you and your earmuffs, I don't want to discuss apparel with this family again until next Christmas! Up and at 'em, gorgeous, the dance floor awaits."

Mom helps me to my feet, whispering in my ear as we follow them back to the party. "See, no to say yes. Your dad's chanting it right now."

Many dances and bottles of champagne later I float back to my apartment in a bubbly haze. George slides up to my heels as soon as I unlock the door and I carry him back to my corner of the room. "Happy New Year, George," I mumble as he purrs under my chin.

Charlene left this morning for Asia and I am giddy with the three weeks of little freedoms this affords me. As I kick off my heels I see the light on my answering machine flashing in a soft blur. Mrs. X.

"What do you think, George, shall we risk it?" I bend over to let him down before pressing the "new message" button.

"Hi, Nan? Um, this is a message for Nan. I think this is the right number . .." H. H.'s slurred voice fills the apartment.

"Oh, my God!" I scream, turning to check my appearance in the mirror.

"Right. So um, yeah.. . I'm just calling to say 'Happy New Year.' Um, I'm in Africa. And-wait-what time is it there? Seven hours, that's ten . .. eleven ... twelve. Right. So I'm with my family and we're about to head into the bush. And we've been having some beers with the guides. And it's the last outpost with a phone . .. But I just wanted to say that I bet you had a hard week. See! I know how you've been working hard and I just wanted you to know, um ...that I know ... that you do ... work hard, that is. Um, and that you have a happy New Year. Okay, so then-I hope this is your machine. Right. So that's all, just wanted you to know. Um ... bye."

I stumble to my bed in utter euphoria. "Oh, my God," I mumble again in the darkness, before passing out with a grin plastered to my face.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Hi, you've reached Charlene and Nan. Please leave a message." Beep.

"Hi, Nanny, I hope you're in. I'm sure you're probably in. Well, Happy New Year." I crack one eye open. "It's Mrs. X. I hope you've had a good vacation. I'm calling because .. ." Jesus, it's eight o'clock in the morning! "Well, there's been a change of plans. Mr. X apparently needs to go back to Illinois for work. And I, well, Grayer's- we're all very disappointed. So, anyway, we won't be going to Aspen and I wanted to see what you're up to for the rest of the month." On New Year's Day! I stick my hand outside the covers and start flailing for the phone. I unplug the receiver and throw it on the floor. There.

I pass out again.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Hi, you've reached Charlene and Nan. Please leave a message." Beep.

"Hi, Nanny, it's Mrs. X. I left you a message earlier." I crack one eye open. "I don't know if I mentioned, but if you could let me know today ..." Jesus, it's nine-thirty in the morning! On New Year's Day! I stick my hand outside the covers and start flailing for the phone and this time actually manage to pull the right plug out.

Ahh, peace.

"Hi, you've reached Charlene and Nan. Please leave a message." Beep.

"Hi, Nanny, it's Mrs. X," Jesus! It's ten o'clock in the morning! What is wrong with you people? This time I can hear Grayer crying in the background. Not my problem, not my problem, earmuffs. I stick my hand outside the covers and start flailing for the answering machine. I find the volume. "Because you didn't say if you had any plans and I just thought-" Ahh, silence.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

WHAT THE FUCK?

Oh, my God, it's my cell phone. It's my goddamn cell phone.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

Aaaahhhhh! I get out of bed, but I can't find the source of the goddamn ringing. Such a headache.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

It's under the bed. It's under the bed! I start trying to crawl under the bed, still in my evening dress, to where George made a soccer goal with the cell. I extend my arm, grab it, still ringing, and throw it in the laundry hamper, dumping everything on the floor in on top of it.

Ahah!! Sleep.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

I get out of bed, march over to the hamper, retrieve the phone, go in the kitchen, open the freezer door, throw in the phone, and go back to sleep.

I awake five hours later to a very patient George waiting at the end of my bed for breakfast. He tilts his head and meows. "Been on a bender?" he seems to ask. I pad to the kitchen in my very rumpled black chiffon to feed George and make some coffee. I open the freezer and see the green glow of the phone from behind the ice trays.

"Number of calls received: 12," the face reads. Oh, Lord. I make some coffee and go sit on my bed to listen to the messages on my machine.

"Hi, again. Hope I'm not repeating myself. So, Mr. X has decided he won't be able to make it to Aspen and I really don't want to be out there by myself. The groom and the groundsman live all the way down the road and, well, I'd feel very isolated. So I'll be in the city. Anyway, I'd appreciate it if you could come in a few days a week. How's Monday for you? Let me know. The number here again is-"

I don't even think or chant. I just reassemble the phone and dial the number for the Lyford Cay Inn.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. X? Hi, it's Nanny. How are you?"

"Oh God, the weather here is just awful. Mr. X hasjbarely been able to play a round of golf and now he'll be missing his skiing, as well. Grayer's been trapped inside the whole time, and they promised us someone full-time, like last year, but there's a shortage or something. I don't know what I'm going to do." I can hear Pocahontas in the background. "So, did you get my message?"

"Yes." I brace my pounding temples between my thumb and pinky finger.

"You know, I think there's something wrong with your phone. You really should have it looked at. I was trying to call you all morning. Anyway, Mr. X is leaving today, but I'm staying the weekend and won't be back until Monday. Our plane gets in at eleven, so could you meet us at the apartment at noon?"

"Well, actually"-earmuffs-"I already made plans since I wasn't supposed to start back until the last Monday of the month."

"Oh. Couldn t you at least give me a week or two?"

"Well, the thing is-"

"Can you hold on a moment?" It sounds like she's put her hand over the phone. "We don't have another video." Mr. X says something I can't quite make out. "Well, play it for him again," she hisses.

 

"Urn, Mrs. X?"

"Yes?"

I know we'll be having this conversation for the next thirty-six hours unless I reach for a small white one. "I took your suggestion about Paris. So I can't start back until, let's see, two weeks from Monday. Until the eighteenth." No to say yes. "Also, we didn't really have time before you left to discuss how much more an hour I'd be getting this year."

"Uh-huh?"

"Well, typically I go up two dollars every January. I hope that's not a problem."

"Well... No, no, of course. I'll talk to Mr. X. Also, I'd appreciate it if you could go by the apartment tomorrow-you know, while you're out and about-and refill the humidifiers."

"Um, I'm actually going to be on the West Side, so-"

"Great! See you in two weeks. But please do let me know if you can start any sooner."

James holds the door open as I pass. "Happy New Year, Nanny. What're you doin' back so soon?" He seems surprised to see me.

"Mrs. X needs her humidifiers filled," I say.

"Oh, does she now?" He gives a wicked grin.

The first thing I notice when I open the Xes' front door is that the heat is actually on. I step slowly into the silence, feeling a bit like a thief. I am just slipping my arms out of my coat when Ella Fitzgerald's "Miss Otis Regrets" comes blaring out of the stereo system.

I freeze. "Hello?" I call. I clutch my backpack and follow the wall into the kitchen, hoping to grab a knife. I've heard about doormen in buildings like this using the apartments when the tenants are away. I swing open the kitchen door.

There's an open bottle of Dom Perignon on the counter, pots are bubbling on the stove. What kind of sick person steals into an apartment to cook?

"It's not ready yet. Ce n'est pas fini," a man says in a thick French accent as he emerges from the maid's bathroom drying his hands on his checked trousers and adjusting his white chef's coat.

"Who are you?" I ask over the music, taking a step backward toward the door. He looks up.

"Qtti est vows?" he asks, putting his hands on his hips.

"Um, I work here. Who are you!"

"Je m'appelle Pierre. Your mistress hired me to faire le diner." He returns to chopping fennel. The kitchen is a phantasm of productivity and delicious aromas. It's never looked so happy.

"Why you stand there like a fish? Go." He waves his knife at me.

I leave the kitchen to go find Mrs. X.

I cannot believe she's back. Of course, why bother to call Nanny? Ooh no, it's not like I have anything better to do than keep her oil paintings moist. Oh, oh, I am definitely not working tonight if that's her game. It's probably just one, big ruse to get me to work. She's probably got Grayer tied up in a net over the humidifier and is planning to drop him on my head the minute I pour the water in.

"SHE RAN TO THE MAN WHO HAD LED HER SO FAR ASTRAY," the stereo blares, following me from room to room.

Well, fine. I'll just let her know I came by like I said I would and then I'm out of here.

"Hello?" I practically leap right out of my skin. There she is, strutting out of the bedroom, a silk kimono tied carelessly at her waist, her emerald earrings sparkling in the hall light. My heart jumps to my throat.

It's Ms. Chicago.

"Hi," she says, as friendly as she was in the conference room three weeks ago. She glides past me, out toward the dining room.

"Hi," I say, scampering behind her, untying my scarf. I round the corner just as she throws open the French doors onto the dining room, revealing a table set for a romantic dinner for two. A huge bouquet of peonies, the purply black of squid ink, sits among a ring of glowing votives. She leans across the gleaming mahogany to straighten the silverware.

"I'm just here for the humidifiers!" I call out over the stereo.

"Wait," she says, going over to the hidden control panel in the bookcase and expertly adjusting the volume, tone, and bass. "There." She turns to me, smiling placidly. "What were you saying?"

"The humidifiers? Are, um, dry? They run out of... water? And the pictures, well, they can really, uh, suffer? If they're dry? I was just supposed to water them. Only once. Just now, today, 'cause that should last them till... Okay! So, I'll just do that, then."

"Well, thank you, Nanny. I'm sure Mr. X appreciates that, and I do, too." She retrieves her errant glass of champagne from the sideboard. I kneel and unplug the humidifier from the floor.

"Okay, then," I grunt, heaving the machine into my arms and letting myself out into the kitchen.

I refill all ten water tanks, schlepping them back and forth to the laundry room, while Ella keeps right on trucking from "It Was Just One of Those Things," through "Why Can't You Behave?" and "I'm Always True to You, Darlin', in My Fashion." My mind is reeling. This is not her house. This is not her family. And that most definitely was not her bedroom that she came out of.

"Are you done yet?" she asks as I plug in the last one. "Because I was wondering if you could run to the shop for me." She follows me to the door as I grab my coat. "Pierre forgot to get heavy cream. Thanks." She hands me a twenty as I open the door.

I look down at the money and then at Grayer's little frog umbrella in the stand, the one that has two big frog eyes that pop up when he opens it. I hold the money out to her. "I can't-I have, um, an appointment, a doctor thing." I catch a glimpse of myself in the gilt mirror. "Actually ... I just can't."

Her smile strains. "Keep it, then," s............