As if in direct answer, a bottle fell downstairs. Nicole’s room looked onto the pool, and as the party had continued into the night, my disappointment in humanity had grown deeper.
—She was at Brad Sinclair’s party this afternoon. No friends. Just her. Not appropriate. Total cry for help. You’re lucky. It could have been real bad—
More? Was I going to go for it? You bet I was.
—You and Kendall aren’t her buddies. She’s a good kid, but she needs supervision and guidance. Parents.—
I waited for the long-winded reply defending his parenting and his daughter. Instead, I got something much shorter.
—Call me when you can. I want to talk—
My job with Ray Heywood hadn’t been terrible. Actually, it had been great. Maybe that’s why it hurt to lose it.
Ray Heywood was a single dad living and working in Los Angeles. He never looked at me as an available bed buddy or gave me a hard time about how I managed the house. He was just completely disengaged, and as Hollywood parents went, that was as good as it got.
My last day on the job started like every other day. The kids were at school. I’d made them their breakfasts, packed their lunches, made sure Willow had her homework, confirmed the robotics tournament for Saturday, and piled them into my car. I’d dropped them at two separate private schools across Los Angeles, promised to come back at two thirty and four thirty for pickup, and driven back to the house where I’d intended to pick up Jedi’s toys, then make annual doctors’ appointments.
When I’d gotten back, Raymond was on the couch in his linen suit, looking as if his dog just died.
But he hadn’t. Frisky was at his feet, slapping his tail against the Mivondo rug, waiting for me to get back so I could feed him.
“Hi,” I said, glancing at the clock. Ray was never home at nine a.m. Not unless there was a parent-teacher conference, and sometimes not even then. He was rarely home for dinner or bedtime either. He was a “quality time” parent. A week in Disney with all the trappings. Summer in Aruba. Skiing at the Aspen resort. Parenting as if cramming for a test. I couldn’t complain. I liked Aruba and I liked his kids.
“You all right?” I’d asked, hanging my coat. I lined Jedi’s shoes up with Willow’s. Jedi’s special talent was laughter. He wasn’t detail-oriented, and I chased him around all day, picking up, straightening, putting away as he laughed his way through life.
“I’m fine. Just wanted to chat.”
He’d indicated I sit across from him, which was awkward. I’d sat in any chair I wanted for the past two years. I’d sat with him and worked on middle school applications for Willow. I’d briefed him for the interviews and done research on which schools she’d like. She’d get into all of them, of course. Not only could she go wherever she wanted on her own steam, but her father was a household name that was feared and respected.
I’d been immune to his white teeth and swoopy little coif. He wore a big silver ring on his middle finger and a leather strap thing on his wrist.
“Okay.” I sat across from him. “Teacher recs go in this week. I think the administration’s going to call Jeannie at Harvard Westlake for her, but she really likes Marlborough. They won’t push her for both, so—”
“This isn’t about Willow.”
“Oh. Okay.” That was all we’d talked about in the past month as he got in late from his girlfriend’s place and left early for morning call. So it could be anything.
“I think you’re probably the best nanny I’ve ever seen. All my friends are jealous.”
He’d smiled with his big white Chiclets as if he got personal pleasure from the envy of others.
“Thank you.”
“The kids. They love you. I think . . .” He tapped his thumbs together. “I think they think of you as more mother than their mother.”
Their mother lived in Humboldt County. When her acting jobs dried up and the divorce went through, she’d moved there with a boyfriend and grew weed full time. Raymond had done the impossible in the state of California and gotten primary custody. The kids Skyped with their mother once a week. It was uncomfortable, and Willow got sullen whenever the call came through.
“I’m not a replacement,” I said, citing the nanny mantra. “Just a supplement.”
“Right, well, that makes this really hard, is what I’m trying to say.”
Ah.
Crap.
The surface of my skin had gone cold.
There was only one conversation an employer started that way.
“This? This is hard?” I asked. He was going to say it. I wasn’t saving him the trouble because I still didn’t believe it.
“I have to let you go.”
There it was.
“Why?”
“I’ll give you references anywhere you want to go.”
“Why?”
“I’ll say the kids got older and—”
“Do not make me ask you again.”
I used my bossy voice. The voice that dropped an octave. The voice that meant business. Jedi picked his shit up and Willow did her homework when I used that voice. Raymond’s tan went gray and his jaw slacked a little. God, I didn’t know whether to slap him for being a wuss or crawl under a rock for pole-vaulting my boundaries.
I held my breath and my tongue. Those references were important.
“It’s Kendall,” he’d said, opening his hands as if he were presenting a gold box full of high-quality motives instead of yet another relationship with yet another actress. “She’s . . . you know she’s a Hollywood girl. She sees someone . . .”—he made an open-handed vertical hand motion toward me—“a woman living with me.”
“It’s not like that. Did you explain that it’s not like that?”
“I did. But you have to admit, Cara, there’s no hiding.” He made that motion again, up and down my body.
“I dress modestly.”
“I know, I know. You’re a professional. But, look,” he shrugged, “she’s worried. And if she’s going to marry me, she wants to know there isn’t a second beautiful woman down the hall.”
Oh, they were getting married. At least he was buying the cow that was dropping shit all over the house.
His house.
Now Kendall’s house.
Not my house.
“I debated whether I should tell you the truth, but I think I owed you that much.”
Again, he wasn’t being an asshole. God I wanted to be so mad and I couldn’t be.
“Thank you for the references.”
“I’ll cut you a check for six months’ severance.”
“Thank you. I’ll pack.”
I shot up and walked to the stairs.
“Do you want to wait for the check?” he called from behind me.
Did I want to wait for money?