The Extra by Kenneth Rosenberg Page B

of her? 
    Craddock looked flustered.  “I’ll give you a hundred dollars for two hours.  It’s easy money!” he practically begged.
    “How easy?” said Bridget.  “I do have my morals, you know!”
    A hint of comprehension crossed Craddock’s face and he shook his head back and forth.  “Oh, no, no, I think you misunderstand me,” he said.
    “I hope so,” said Bridget.
    “I need a babysitter,” said Craddock.
    “What?” Bridget replied, but then the word babysitter sank in.  Of course.  Why was she not surprised that it was such a pedestrian task?  It wasn’t her shot at the stars after all, but then again it wasn’t anything unseemly either.
    Craddock pulled out his wallet and looked inside.  “Two hundred dollars, cash!  For two hours!  Come on, how can you turn that down?”
    “Why don’t you call a service or something?”
    “I don’t have time.  Look, you’ll be doing me a huge favor.  The nanny is out sick and I need to visit my mother at her home.  I’ve got to go right now.  Two hours, that’s all I ask!  Maybe less.  You’ve looked after kids before, right?”
    “How old are they?” Bridget answered curiously.  Two hundred dollars was a week’s rent.
    “One is three and the other is one and a half.  A girl and a boy.  Lydia is in diapers, but she should be fine.  All you need to do is plunk them down in front of the TV and throw in a video.  It’ll be the easiest money you ever made, I promise,” Craddock pleaded.  It was a side of the man that Bridget hadn’t expected.  He almost seemed human, somehow.
    “I’d need to be home by seven thirty.  I have an appointment,” she replied, thinking of Warren.
    “No problem.  Let’s go.”  He shoved the two hundred dollars into her hand.  Bridget followed him toward the parking lot, hoping that this wasn’t some sort of elaborate ploy.  When they got to his red Maserati she opened the passenger door and settled into the plush leather seat.  This was a car that only a jerk of a producer would drive, she thought, yet she had to admit it was a thrill when they pulled out of the lot and he stepped on the gas, sending them hurtling down the street.

Chapter Nineteen
     
    Bridget sat in a chaise lounge on the back patio of Roger Craddock’s palatial estate.  She’d shed her long coat to reveal a more comfortable grey cotton top and short black skirt with matching black shoes and stockings.  In front of her, three-year-old Nathan and one and a half-year-old Lydia played on the lawn with their toys.  Nathan scooped up small blocks with a bulldozer while Lydia followed him around in her diaper, bending over tentatively from time to time to pick up a stray block and toss it across the grass with a squeak of laughter.  This certainly was the easiest babysitting job Bridget could remember.
    From inside the house, a French door opened and Sylvia, Craddock’s maid, appeared holding a tray with a pitcher of lemonade three empty glasses and a sippy cup.  She moved to Bridget and placed the tray on a table.  “I thought you might like a cool drink,” she said, taking a seat herself before pouring the first glass.
    “Thank you…” said Bridget as Sylvia handed her a lemonade.  Bridget was somewhat surprised to be treated so well.
    Sylvia, a solid Latina in her mid-40’s, filled her own glass and took a sip.  “Hey kids, lemonade!” she shouted, but the children paid no attention. 
    “Well, I appreciate it even if they don’t.” Bridget added. 
    “I’d never want to be accused of being a poor host,” said Sylvia.
    “But I’m not a guest,” said Bridget.
    “Sure you are,” said Sylvia.
    Bridget pondered the situation.  “Why didn’t Mr. Craddock just have you watch the kids?” she asked.
    “Are you kidding?” Sylvia scoffed.  “I’m the maid, not the nanny.  I don’t do kids.”
    “But it’s just a few hours, and…”
    “Look,” Sylvia cut Bridget off.  “I’ll do his laundry