And We Gave Her an All-expenses paid Vacation

"Good-bye!" the Horners shout from their car as it pulls out of the Nantucket Airport parking lot, leaving me alone by the side of the tarmac.

I sit down on my duffel bag and fight the urge not to throw up as only someone can who's just flown twenty-five minutes on a six-seater plane through torrential downpours, unrelenting fog, and massive turbulence with four adults, three children, a goldfish, a guinea pig, and a golden retriever. Only my consideration for the Horner girls prevented me from screaming at every drop.

I pull my sweatshirt closer around me against the salty wind and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Oh, no, that's okay, that's fiiine. No, I wasn't out late at my graduation party. No, you take your time-I'll just sit here in the cold drizzle. No, I think what's important is that I'm here, in Nantucket, and that you and your family can rest easy just knowing I am somewhere within a ten-mile vicinity of you. I think what's important, you know, paramount really, is that I'm not off living my life, attending to whatever I need to be doing, but am permanently on pause for you and your fucking family-

The Rover pulls in and barely slows to a roll as they motion for me to jump in.

"Nanny!" Grayer screams. "I got a Kokichu!" He holds up a yellow Japanese toy as I open the door. There is a very large canoe precariously angled in the trunk so that it sticks out over half the back passenger seat.

"Nanny, be careful of the boat. It's an antique," Mrs. X says proudly.

I maneuver myself under the canoe, pull my bag between my feet, crouch low, and reach around to pat Grayer's leg in greeting. "Hey, Grove, I missed ya."

"The antiquing here is wonderful. I'm hoping to find a new couch table for the second guest bedroom."

"Dream big, honey," Mr. X grumbles under his breath.

Ignoring him, she looks up at me in her visor mirror. "So, what was the plane like inside?"

"Urn, it had brown leather seats-" I say, my head wedged into my chest.

"Did they serve you anything?"

"They asked if I wanted peanuts."

"You're so lucky. Jack Horner designs fabulous shoes. I absolutely adore Caroline. I worked on a benefit last year for her brother's campaign. It's such a shame they live in Westchester or we'd just be the best of friends." She checks her teeth in the mirror. "Now, I want to go over the plan for the afternoon. It turns out the Pierson barbecue is formal, so I thought it'd be nice for you guys to just enjoy some downtime at the house. Relax and enjoy the place."

"Great. That sounds like fun." I attempt to look over at Grover in his car seat with visions of us passed out in matching chaises on the lawn.

"Now, Caroline was supposed to call about dinner, so just give her my cell number when she rings. I've tacked it up next to the phone in the kitchen." Thanks, because it usually takes me about nine and a half months to memorize a ten-digit number.

We pull off the main road onto a densely wooded drive and I'm surprised to see that quite a few of the trees are still bare.

"They've had a cold spring." Mrs. X reads my thoughts. The drive opens into a loop in front of what can only be described as a sprawling, ramshackle 1950s bungalow. The white paint is peeling, the screen door has a hole in it, and a piece of roofing dangles at a precarious angle from the gutter.

"Well, we're here. Casa Crap," Mr. X says, stepping down from the car.

"Darling, I thought we agreed-" She gets out and chases after him, leaving me to unbuckle Grayer and get my bag out of the back. I hold what's left of the screen door open for Grayer, although he probably could just crawl through.

"Honey, it's not my fault the realtor's photographs were outdated."

"I'm just saying that for five thousand dollars a week, maybe you could have done a bit more research."

Mrs. X turns to us, beaming. "Grayer, why don't you show Nanny her room?"

"Come on, Nanny, it's reallyreally cool!" I follow him up the stairs to a little room at the end of the hallway. There are two twin beds close together under the sharply slanted low ceiling and Grayer's stuff is on one of them. "Isn't this cool, Nanny? We get to have a sleep-over every night!" He sits, bouncing on his bed. I stoop, careful not to bump my head, to fish a warm sweater and jeans out of my bag, as it was actually summer back in New York and I optimistically wore shorts.

"Okay, G. I'm just going to change."

"Am I going to see you naked?"

"No, I'll go in the bathroom. Wait here. Where's the bathroom?"

"There!" He points to the door across the hall.

I push it open.

"AAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!" And am confronted by a red-haired little girl, shrieking on the toilet. "This is my privacy!"

"Sorry!" I slam the door closed.

"Grayer, who's that?" I ask.

"That's Carson Spender. She's staying the weekend."

"O-kay." Just then I hear a car pull up the gravel drive. I go over to the window and watch Mr. X direct a Range Rover around to the side of the house. I walk down the hall to the dingy clerestory window facing the ocean and see the car pull in next to four others parked by the overgrown hedge. There are at least ten children on the back lawn.

"Grover?" I call, and he comes thumping down the hall. I heave him up so he can see out the window. "Who are those kids?"

"I dunno. They're just kids." I kiss him on the top of his head and put him down as the bathroom door opens. Carson shoots me a dirty look before marching downstairs.

"G, why don't you head down and I'll change quickly?"

"I want to stay with you," he says, following me back into our room.

"Okay, you can stand outside the door." I try to close it.

"Nanny, you know I don't like that." I pull it back, so it's barely cracked, and pull off my shorts. "Nanny? Can you hear me?"

"Yes, Grove." He sticks his little fingers under the door.

"Nanny, try to catch my fingers! Come on, catch "em!" I look down for a moment, then kneel and gently tickle the tips of his fingers with my own. He giggles at my touch.

"You know, Grove," I say, recalling that first week when he locked me out. "I got tnye thung thitikin outta, too, and you can't see it."

"No you don't, silly."

"How do you know I don't?"

"You'd never, Nanny. Hurry up, I'll show you the pool. It's really really freezing!"

Out back are men in summer suits, and women shivering in lawn dresses, all standing like traffic cones as children whiz chaotically around them.

"Mommy! She took my privacy!" I can hear Carson pointing me out to her mother.

"Oh, Nanny, there you are," Mrs. X says. "We should all be back around six. There's plenty of stuff in the fridge for lunch. Have fun!"

A chorus of "Have a great time, guys!" erupts around us as the adults head over to their cars, which take off, car seats empty.

I look down at twelve expectant faces, as visions of an afternoon on the chaises quickly disappears. "Okay, guys, I'm Nanny. I have a few ground rules. NOBODY goes near the pool. Is that clear? I don't want to see anybody going past that tree over there or you will sit in the broom closet for the rest of the afternoon. Got it?" Twelve heads nod solemnly.

"But what if there was a war and the only place to go for safety was by the pool and-"

"What's your name?" I ask the freckled brunet with glasses.

"Ronald."

"Ronald, no more silly questions. If there's a war we go to the shed. Okay, everyone, go play!" I run inside, looking out every window I pass to make sure no one is even creeping toward the pool, to find Grayer's art kit.

I set up crayons, construction paper, and scotch tape on the patio table. "Okay, listen up! I want you all to come over here, one at a time, and tell me your name."

"Arden," a small girl in OshKosh B'Gosh tells me.

I write "ARDEN" and a big "1" on her impromptu name tag and then tape it to her shirt. "Okay, Arden, you're one. Every time I call out 'Head count!' you shout 'One!' Got that? All you have to remember is 'one.'" She climbs up into my lap and becomes my assistant, passing me the tape and pens, alternately.

For an hour everyone runs around on the grass, some play with Grayer's toys, others just chase each other, while I look out at the fog-covered ocean. Every fifteen minutes I call out "HEAD COUNT!" and they sound off.

"One!"

"Two!"

"Three!"

Silence. I tense to run down to the pool.

"Jessy, you're four, dummy."

"Four!" a small voice squeaks.

"Five!"

"Six!"

"Seven!"

"Grayer!"

"Nine!"

"Ten!"

"Eleven!"

"Twelve!"

"Okay, time for lunch!" I survey the troops. I am wary about leaving them outside while I inspect the supplies. "Everyone inside!"

"Awww!"

"Come on, we can play outside after lunch." I slide the wobbling glass door closed after number 12.

"Nanny, what's for lunch? I'm reallyreally hungry," Grayer asks.

"I dunno. Let's go take a look." Grayer follows me into the kitchen, leaving 7,9, and 3, who are turning the living room couch into a fort.

I pull open the fridge. "Okay, let's see what we've got!" Umm, three fat-free yogurts, a box of SnackWell's, a loaf of fat-free sourdough, mustard, brie, local jam, and a zucchini.

"Okay, troops! Listen up!" Eleven hungry faces look up at me from their various tasks in the group mission to destroy the living room. "Here are the choices: we have jam sandwiches, but you may not like the bread. Or we have brie sandwiches, but you may not like the cheese. Or we have Cheerios, but no sugar to sprinkle on top. So, I would like you to come in the kitchen one at a time to taste the bread and the cheese and see which one you want."

"I want peanut butter and jelly!" Ronald shouts.

I turn around and shoot him a quick Look of Death. "This is war, Ronald. And in war you get the supplies your commanding officer sends you." I salute him. "So let's all be good soldiers and eat the cheese."

I'm making the last sandwich when the first raindrops fall, blanketing the sliding doors with a thick sheet of water.

"Bye, Carson!" Grayer and I call out as the Spenders begin to pull out of the driveway Sunday night.

"Bye, Grayer!" she calls back from her car seat and then puts her right thumb up to her nose and waves her fingers at me. Despite my best efforts all weekend I was evidently never able to work my way back into her good graces after "taking" her privacy.

"Grayer, are you ready?" Mrs. X comes outside in a green and cream silk coat, Prada's signature look this spring, putting in her right pearl earring.

"Mommy, can I bring my Kokichu?" he asks.

We've been invited over for a "casual Sunday supper" at the Homers' and Grayer feels he needs to come equipped with something to share, since Ellie, their four-year-old, has a guinea pig.

"I suppose that'll be okay. Why don't we leave it in the car when we get there and then I'll let you know if it's okay to bring it out? Nanny, why don't you run upstairs and change?"

 "I am changed," I say, glancing down to confirm that I am still wearing clean chinos and a white turtleneck sweater.

"Oh. Well, I suppose it's okay. You'll probably be outside with the children most of the time, anyway."

"Okay, everybody in the car!" Mr. X comes by, swooping Grayer up, and carries him, sack-of-potatoes-style, outside.

As soon as we get in the car Mr. X plugs his cell phone into the dashboard and starts dictating instructions to Justine's voice mail. The rest of us sit quietly, Grayer clutching his Kokichu, me balled up under the canoe staring at my belly button.

As Mr. X unplugs his cell phone he sighs. "This is a really bad week for me to be away from the office. It's terrible timing."

"But you said the beginning of June was going to be quiet-" she says.

"Well, I'm just warning you I'll probably have to go back on Thursday for a meeting."

She swallows. "Well, when will you be back?"

"I'm not sure. It looks like I'll probably have to stay over the weekend to entertain the execs from Chicago."

"I thought your work with the Chicago office was done," she says tightly.

"It's not that simple. Now there's the issue of layoffs, merging divisions-reorging and making this thing run."

She doesn't reply.

"Besides, I will have been here a whole week," he says, making a left turn.

"Why are you turning away from the water?" she asks edgily.

We have trouble finding the house because, according to the instructions, it's on the inland side of the main road.

"I just can't believe they wouldn't have an ocean view," Mrs. X says, as she forces us to round the same traffic circle for the third time. "Give me back the instructions."

He balls up the piece of paper and throws it at her without tak-

ing his eyes off the road. She smooths it out methodically on her knee. "You must have copied them down backward."

"Let's be crazy and just follow the fucking directions and see where we end up," he hisses.

"I'm starving. I'm gonna die if I don't eat," Grayer moans.

Dusk is falling when we finally pull into the Homers' shingled, three-story house. Ferdie, their golden retriever, is sleeping peacefully on the wraparound porch under the hammock and the crickets chirp loudly in greeting. Jack Horner pushes the screen door open, wearing faded jeans and Birkenstocks.

"Take off your tie! Quick!" Mrs. X whispers.

"Park anywhere!" he shouts with a broad smile from the porch.

Mr. X is divested of his blazer, tie, and cuff links before we can get out of the car.

I stretch out my cramped back as I walk around to the trunk. I fish the rhubarb pie Mrs. X bought at the supermarket this morning out of the cooler. "Here, I'll take that," she says, walking off after Mr. X, who's holding a bottle of wine, and followed by Grayer, holding his Kokichu in front of him, like the three wise men.

"Jack!" The men shake hands and clap each other on the back.

Ellie peeks around the door. "Mom! They're here!"

Jack ushers us into the cozy living room, where one wall is completely covered in the children's art and a macaroni sculpture sits on the coffee table.

Caroline comes out of the kitchen wearing jeans and a white blouse, wiping her hands on her apron. "Hi! I'm sorry, don't shake my hands-I was just marinating the steaks." Ellie attaches herself to Caroline's leg. "Did you guys have any trouble finding the place?"

"Not at all, your directions were perfect," Mrs. X quickly responds. "Here." She hands off the pie box.

"Oh, thank you. Hey, Elle, why don't you show Grayer your room?" She bumps the girl gently with her hip.

"Wanna see my Kokichu?" He takes a step forward, proffering the fluffy ball. She looks down at the yellow fur and runs off, Grayer's cue to follow, and they scamper upstairs.

"Nanny, why don't you go watch the kids?" Mrs. X says to me.

"Oh, they're fine. I took away Elle's Ginsu knives, so Grayer should be safe," Caroline says, laughing. "Nanny, would you like some wine?"

"Yes, drinks. What's your pleasure?" Jack asks.

"Do you have any Scotch?" Mr. X asks.

"Wine would be great," Mrs. X says, smiling.

"Red? White?"

"Whatever you're having," Mrs. X says. "Where are the other girls?"

"Setting the table. Would you excuse me? I'm just going to finish getting dinner together," Caroline says.

"Would you like any help?" I ask.

"Actually, that'd be great, if you don't mind."

Jack and Mr. X go outside to do manly things with the barbecue, while we follow Caroline into the kitchen, where Lulu and Katie, ages eight and six, are sitting at the table, rolling up napkins and putting them in rings.

"Nanny!" They leap up as soon as I come in, throwing their arms around me, much to Mrs. X's chagrin. I pick up Katie and quickly dip her backward, holding on to her legs, then give Lulu her turn.

"Would you mind tossing the salad?" Caroline hands off the bowl and a Mason jar full of dressing.

"Not at all." As I start flipping the lettuce I notice the sweet aroma of a pie baking.

"What can I do?" Mrs. X asks.

"Oh, nothing. I wouldn't want you to ruin your beautiful coat."

"Honey?" We hear Jack calling from the backyard.

"Lu, would you run outside and see what Dad wants?" The little girl comes running back a second later.

"He says the grill's ready."

"Okay, will you carry the steaks out to him, but be careful or we're all having grilled cheese for dinner."

Lulu picks up the metal tray and walks slowly to the door, staring intently at the pile of meat.

"Where are the kids eating?" Mrs. X asks casually.

"With us."

"Oh, of course," she says, covering.

"I wanted to ask you a favor," Caroline says, circling the island to put her hand on Mrs. X's arm.

"Of course, anything."

"I have a friend from college coming out next week. She's getting divorced and moving back to New York from L.A. and I wonder if you wouldn't mind taking her under your wing a bit." ,

"Not at all-"

"It's just that being up in Westchester I can't do as much to introduce her around as I'd like. Also, if you know a good real estate agent, she's looking for a place."

"Well, there's a three-bedroom in our building that's on the market."

"Thanks, but she's looking for a studio. It's a horrible situation- even though her ex-husband was the one c-h-e-a-t-i-n-g, none of the assets were in his name. He's incorporated or some crap, and she's gotten nothing."

Mrs. X's eyes widen. "That's terrible."

"So anything you can do to help, I'd really appreciate. I'll call you when she gets here."

When we all get to the table, I'm charmed to see that the girls have made place cards by taking leaves and writing our names on them in silver pen in three markedly different handwritings. Katie and Lulu have asked to have me seated between them, while Mrs. X is placed between Grayer and Ellie and spends much of the meal cutting meat and answering Ellie's questions about her coat.

Ferdie comes over and starts whimpering for scraps at Jack's feet.

"We had a retriever when I was a boy," Mr. X says, spooning mustard onto his second steak.

"Ferdie's a local, actually," Caroline says. "One of the top breeders lives just down the road, if you're thinking of getting a puppy-"

"This is such a fabulous house," Mrs. X says, changing the subject as she plays with her salad.

"It was built by Caroline's grandfather," Jack says.

"With his own two hands, no nails, in the driving rain, if you believe him," she laughs.

"You should see the overpriced beach shack my wife picked out. We'll be lucky if the roof doesn't blow off," Mr. X laughs, corn in his teeth.

"So, Nanny, where are you in school?" Jack turns to me.

"NYU-I just graduated on Friday, actually."

"Congratulations!" He smiles at me, while buttering another ear of corn for Lulu. "So, have you figured out your plans for next year?"

"You're such a dad." Caroline laughs at him across the table. "You don't have to answer that, Nanny." She stands up. "Who wants pie?"

"ME! ME!" the little Horners and Grayer all shout.

As soon as the door swings behind her I stand to clear, but Jack stops me. "Come on," he mock-whispers. "She's gone. What are your plans?"

"I'm going to be the program associate of a children's organization in Brooklyn," I tell him in a stage whisper.

"Honey!" he shouts. "It's okay! She has a plan!"

Caroline comes back in, smiling, with a carton of ice cream and nine bowls.

"Jack, you're hopeless." She puts down the carton and the bowls. "Lulu, will you take coffee orders?"

A gracious hostess, Caroline serves both pies, but there's little demand for the cold one in the aluminum dish.

"Mommy, I want a guinea pig," Grayer says sleepily from his car seat. He's out almost immediately and the Xes begin rehashing the evening, as I try to find a comfortable way to slump beneath the canoe.

"He was telling me by the barbecue that he's managed to expand into twelve new markets this year-" Mr. X is impressed with Jack's business acumen.

"You know"-she turns slightly toward him, putting her hand on his arm-"I was thinking I could go back with you on Thursday-we could have a romantic weekend in the city."

He pulls his arm away as he makes a left turn. "I told you, it'll just be a lot of client entertaining. You'd be bored out of your mind." He plugs in his cell phone and dials with his free hand.

She pulls her Filofax out and flips through the empty pages. "Nanny, one thing I would like to mention-" she calls back reprovingly.

"Yes," I say, starting to nod off.

"I'm not sure if it's appropriate for you to monopolize the dinner conversation. Just something I'd like you to be a little more aware of from now on."

Darling, I've gone over to the Sterns' for tea.  I'll be back by five.  Just a thought - if you have to go, why not see if you can come back to the island early Sunday morning, because the Horners have invited us over for brunch.
Have a great match!
Love you.

~ ~ ~

I hope your golf game went well.  In case you're worried if I'll be lonely Caronline has offered to keep me company while you're gone, so don't worry about me.  Although they're quite busy, but I'm sure other people will think of me.
See you at the club at six.
Love you.

~ ~ ~

Darling, I didn't want to wake you from your nap - I'm going into town.
I called the rental agent and she said that it's really pretty safe out here.  She said she'd be surprised if anything happened to Grayer or me while we're here all by ourselves, so please don't spend your time in the city worrying about us all the way up here.

~ ~ ~

Wednesday night, on the eve of Mr. X's departure, the three of us sit waiting in the Rover for Mrs. X. The original plan was to leave Grayer and myself home for the evening "to relax," while they had dinner at II Cognilio with the Longacres. But when they came home to change, Grayer screamed hysterically until Mr. X insisted that they bring him along, so he would, quote, "shut up."

After five straight days of running a virtual day-care center for all of the Xes' friends on at most five hours of sleep a night, I start to nod off as soon as I slump down under the canoe.

Mr. X jerks the cell phone away from his head. "We're going to lose the reservation-go see what's taking her so long." I open the car door just as Mrs. X teeters out onto the gravel on uncharacteristically high heels, clad in a strapless black dress with a red cashmere wrap around her shivering shoulders. Mr. X barely glances at her before starting the car.

"Honey, what time do you want me to drive you to the airport tomorrow?" she asks, pulling on her seat belt.

"Don't bother-I'm taking the six A.M. flight. I'll just call a cab."

"I want to fly with Daddy." Grayer, hungry and, of course, napless, begins to squirm in his car seat.

"Mrs. X? Um, you didn't get a chance to see if you brought any mosquito bite stuff, did you?" my voice echoes from beneath the canoe.

"No, are you still being bitten? I just don't understand it. None of us has any bites."

"Do you think it might be possible for me to run into a drugstore and grab some After Bite?"

"I really don't think we have time." She retouches her lipstick in the yellow light of the visor mirror.

I give my leg a good going-over through my pants. I am on fire. The itch is so bad it's keeping me awake on the alternate hours Grayer or Mr. X isn't snoring. I just. Want to go. To a drugstore.

After a tense twenty-minute drive we pull into the parking lot/ gift shop of the famous restaurant whose annual signature T-shirt, featuring a rabbit in silhouette, is a bizarre, nationwide status symbol. Of course I want one.

Mrs. X ushers us into the restaurant, a glorified bait-and-tackle shop that serves up twenty-five-dollar bowls of pasta on splintered tables.

"Darling, how are you?" Mrs. X is accosted by a woman with large, blond hair that looks as if it could stand up to the fiercest Nantucket wind. "You're so dressy, my God, I feel like a bumpkin." She pulls her Aqua Scutum barn jacket closer around her.

The men shake hands and Mrs. X introduces Grayer. "Grayer, you remember Mrs. Longacre?"

Mrs. Longacre absentmindedly pats his head. "He's getting so big. Honey, let's get our table." We are shown to a drafty corner table and handed a green booster seat, which Grayer tries to squeeze himself into.

"Mrs. X, I think it's too small."

"Nonsense." She looks over at him sitting sideways, straining to fit his whole tushy in the seat. "Go see if they have a phone book."

I finally unearth three filthy Nantucket directories and slip them under his derriere, while the adults order cocktails. I pull crayons out of my bag and start telling Grayer a story, illustrating on the paper tablecloth as I go.

"Well, of course, I love it up here, but I don't know how I'd do it without my fax," Mrs. Longacre says. "I don't know how people went anywhere before the fax and the cell phone, I really don't. I'm putting together a small dinner for a hundred people for the week we get back. You know, I pla............