The Nannies by Melody Mayer Page B

Hadn’t she always prided herself on her independence?
    The clock cleaned and oiled, she reset the time, then returned to the kitchen and poured the leftover cleaning solution down the drain. What was it that
she
really wanted? The only things in her life that were completely her own were the tattoos she designed. How should she go about making her life as much her own as those tattoos? She had no idea, none.
    Finally, Esme returned to the thank-yous. But she found it impossible to focus. So she prowled through the rooms of the guesthouse, as moments from her first day on the job replayed in her mind. It had actually gone fine. After their return from the country club, she’d given the kids lunch, then played with them in the newly built sandbox, which was the size of a small desert. Afterward were baths, followed by new outfits from Pampolina: orange stretch-velvet pants and silk-screen T-shirt for Weston, lavender cords and T-shirt for Easton.
    After that, Esme had taken the kids for burgers at Mel’s Drive-In. Their burgers were served in cardboard racing cars, which the girls loved. She also ordered them a vanilla milk shake to share, topped with a mountain of whipped cream and two cherries. When the waiter brought it out, the girls just stared. Esme coaxed them to try it. Tentatively, they’d put their lips to the straws. One sip of milk shake and both little faces lit up; they didn’t stop sucking until they’d drained it.
    Once they got back home, Esme helped them change into their new Tracey Ross cashmere pajamas, which, according to the price tags that Esme had carefully cut off, sold for five hundred and sixty dollars. The kids fell into bed before eight o’clock, unable to keep their eyes open. But she did coax a “Good night, Esme” from them instead of
“Buenas noches.”
    Diane had assured Esme that she’d be home in time to tuck in her daughters. But she called at seven to say that she was running late at Yoga Booty, and Selina would stay with the sleeping girls until she got home.
    Esme wouldn’t have minded working overtime. The truth was, she was lonely. And bored. She went to the kitchen and found a box of cereal in the cupboard; someone had thoughtfully put fresh milk in the refrigerator. She ate her bowl of Cheerios standing at the counter, the sound of cereal crunching in her mouth deafening. And then she realized why: it was the silence. All her life, she’d lived on busy streets where automobile traffic rolled by, Latin music blaring from car stereos, and emergency vehicle sirens wailed at all hours. And then there were the police helicopters,
whup-whup
ping overhead, seeking out the latest criminal
del día.
    But here in Bel Air, it was absolutely still. No traffic. No sirens. No choppers. Only the occasional chirping of a cricket in the gardens outside. She shuddered. How could she ever sleep in this kind of creepy silence? She rinsed her cereal bowl and put it away. Went back into the living room and wrote a few more notes. When Junior finally called, she would tell him that she was writing damn thank-yous to—
    Her cell rang. Esme snapped it open. “Junior?”
    A throat cleared. “It’s Mr. Goldhagen, actually. Steve.”
    Esme winced. “Yes, sir?”
    “I just got back from my office. Diane tells me you were super with the kids today.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    “Well, that’s great, Esme. Listen, I’m up at the main house. I was wondering, there’s this thing tonight at the Santa Monica Pier. An opening party for a new Cosmos film called
The Ten,
Kirsten Dunst and George Clooney. A courier dropped off a bunch of passes at my office, but Diane and I are staying in tonight. I thought maybe you’d want them. Sort of as a welcome to our family.”
    Esme was taken aback. How were passes to a Hollywood party a welcome to his family?
    “That’s very nice of you, sir.”
    “If you’d like to use them, take the Audi,” Mr. Goldhagen continued. “I’ll put the keys and the