about sixty-five? Isn’t that a little old for you? ”
“What can I say?” Tracy shrugs with a smile. “I’ve always been into older men, and as Edie will tell you, sixty-five is positively a baby.”
Charlie gets home to find the house unusually quiet. It’s not often she is in the house by herself these days, but with Keith away, the kids at sleepovers, and Amanda being out, it is a rare treat.
Not that she’s going to take advantage of it. What would she do, in the house by herself, that she wouldn’t otherwise do? Dance naked in the living room? Scream at the top of her lungs on top of the kitchen table just to feel what it would be like?
She does what she always does. Gathers the children’s shoes and sweatshirts, which are strewn all over the hallway. This infuriates her because not only does she tell the children, repeatedly, to put their shoes in the mudroom and hang their sweatshirts on the hooks, she also tells Amanda, repeatedly, to pick up after the children before she goes out, and to make sure everything goes back in its place.
She sighs out loud as she passes the TV room and sees Em-ma’s Polly Pocket dolls and clothes all over the floor, kernels of popcorn scattered among them. Damn. Another thing she has told Amanda repeatedly. No food in the TV room. Why does she sometimes feel she is talking to no one at all?
What is the point of giving instructions when no one listens to her? And much as she adores Amanda, she has noticed a change: in the early days, when she asked Amanda to do something, or requested something be done differently, Amanda would just do it, no questions asked.
Recently, she has jumped on the defense. Charlie feels that instead of accepting things, Amanda argues with her all the time. Or blames the children. When Amanda is supposed to be the adult.
But that, of course, is the problem with having an au pair. Or a former au pair who calls herself a nanny because she is no longer with Cultural Care, or Au Pair in America, or whichever program it was that brought her over here, except she is still only twenty years old, and is therefore far more like another teenage daughter, and certainly not a nanny in the sense that Mary Pop-pins is a nanny.
Charlie hates that she has become one of those women who sits with her girlfriends and complains about the nanny, but then again, she never thought she’d be one of those women who has a nanny.
And now that Emma is four, it’s not really as if she needs one. Sure, Charlie has her flower business, but that’s easily handled while the children are in school. The real reason they have a nanny is that Keith decided that if all the other wealthy Wall Street wives had nannies, then they must have one too, but Charlie didn’t need much convincing.
It has made her life so much easier, allows her to do what she wants, when she wants to. It means that she can do a bit of impromptu shopping: on her way to pick up Paige, she may spot a sale in her favorite store in town, and can ring Amanda and ask her to collect Paige instead.
And really, isn’t it a small price to pay, that she doesn’t always pick up, or clean up, or put petrol in the car? And maybe, just maybe, the nanny will come home tomorrow and realize that Charlie was the one who cleared everything up, and maybe she’ll feel so guilty she’ll make sure it never happens again.
Chapter Six
“I t’sme.”
“Hi, you,” Kit says, her stock response to women who phone up and say, it’s me, who would doubtless be upset should she respond, as she is often tempted to, “ Which me? ” Although, in truth, these days the me tends to be Charlie, or, more frequently now, Tracy.
Today it’s Tracy.
“So this guy comes in this morning and signs up for the yoga class at five, and he’s adorable, and you have to get your ass over here this afternoon.”
“Thanks for thinking of me, but he’s probably married with five children.”
“No! We chatted. He’s just moved to
“What can I say?” Tracy shrugs with a smile. “I’ve always been into older men, and as Edie will tell you, sixty-five is positively a baby.”
Charlie gets home to find the house unusually quiet. It’s not often she is in the house by herself these days, but with Keith away, the kids at sleepovers, and Amanda being out, it is a rare treat.
Not that she’s going to take advantage of it. What would she do, in the house by herself, that she wouldn’t otherwise do? Dance naked in the living room? Scream at the top of her lungs on top of the kitchen table just to feel what it would be like?
She does what she always does. Gathers the children’s shoes and sweatshirts, which are strewn all over the hallway. This infuriates her because not only does she tell the children, repeatedly, to put their shoes in the mudroom and hang their sweatshirts on the hooks, she also tells Amanda, repeatedly, to pick up after the children before she goes out, and to make sure everything goes back in its place.
She sighs out loud as she passes the TV room and sees Em-ma’s Polly Pocket dolls and clothes all over the floor, kernels of popcorn scattered among them. Damn. Another thing she has told Amanda repeatedly. No food in the TV room. Why does she sometimes feel she is talking to no one at all?
What is the point of giving instructions when no one listens to her? And much as she adores Amanda, she has noticed a change: in the early days, when she asked Amanda to do something, or requested something be done differently, Amanda would just do it, no questions asked.
Recently, she has jumped on the defense. Charlie feels that instead of accepting things, Amanda argues with her all the time. Or blames the children. When Amanda is supposed to be the adult.
But that, of course, is the problem with having an au pair. Or a former au pair who calls herself a nanny because she is no longer with Cultural Care, or Au Pair in America, or whichever program it was that brought her over here, except she is still only twenty years old, and is therefore far more like another teenage daughter, and certainly not a nanny in the sense that Mary Pop-pins is a nanny.
Charlie hates that she has become one of those women who sits with her girlfriends and complains about the nanny, but then again, she never thought she’d be one of those women who has a nanny.
And now that Emma is four, it’s not really as if she needs one. Sure, Charlie has her flower business, but that’s easily handled while the children are in school. The real reason they have a nanny is that Keith decided that if all the other wealthy Wall Street wives had nannies, then they must have one too, but Charlie didn’t need much convincing.
It has made her life so much easier, allows her to do what she wants, when she wants to. It means that she can do a bit of impromptu shopping: on her way to pick up Paige, she may spot a sale in her favorite store in town, and can ring Amanda and ask her to collect Paige instead.
And really, isn’t it a small price to pay, that she doesn’t always pick up, or clean up, or put petrol in the car? And maybe, just maybe, the nanny will come home tomorrow and realize that Charlie was the one who cleared everything up, and maybe she’ll feel so guilty she’ll make sure it never happens again.
Chapter Six
“I t’sme.”
“Hi, you,” Kit says, her stock response to women who phone up and say, it’s me, who would doubtless be upset should she respond, as she is often tempted to, “ Which me? ” Although, in truth, these days the me tends to be Charlie, or, more frequently now, Tracy.
Today it’s Tracy.
“So this guy comes in this morning and signs up for the yoga class at five, and he’s adorable, and you have to get your ass over here this afternoon.”
“Thanks for thinking of me, but he’s probably married with five children.”
“No! We chatted. He’s just moved to
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