I was lying. No one forgot it. She’d forever be the face of a nanny who fell for a daddy. Fresh from the supermarket headcap.
“And I don’t think I got the Sinclair job either,” she said after swigging from her bottle. “Which, maybe it’s a good thing.”
It had started getting hot earlier in the day, so Blakely and I wanted to finish the hike up the hill by nine a.m. The mountain sloped and curved up to Dante’s Peak, a copse of trees smoked out but not destroyed in the 2008 fires.
“It’s kind of a disaster,” I said. “The surprise kid? Nothing good can come of it. You can tell he’s trying though.”
“He has no choice.”
“And what they say about him?” I said between gasps for oxygen, continuing as if I hadn’t heard her. “All true. It’s like so raw. The presence.”
“I thought he was shorter.” Blakely sucked on her water bottle. Her blonde ponytail swung behind her. She looked gorgeous even after two miles uphill. My bangs were plastered to my forehead, and my eyes were wet from the dust.
“Too good-looking to work for,” I said, getting out of the way of a woman in a tight leotard and her dog. “And straight. Too straight.”
“I know. And inexperienced. He’d probably think he was entitled to it.”
“Too risky. I pity the girl he hires.”
I shook my head. Brad Sinclair was a tabloid headline waiting to happen.
“I hope you get to pity me. I need the money.”
I nodded. He wasn’t going to hire her. He’d get talked out of it by anyone who cared about his reputation. After her affair with Josh Trudeau she became the nanny equivalent of box office poison. The rumor mill never stopped churning.
Raymond, my last boss, had cut me loose before the rumor mill had a chance to churn. We hadn’t done anything, but when he got engaged to Kendall, she wasted no time turning me into a problem. Executive powers came with the engagement ring. Her first order was that the other pretty woman in the house had to go. I was young and cute, and you don’t bring a time bomb into your home.
And that’s exactly what a celebrity nanny is. Not only is she attractive but she’s great with the kids. She does all the things the dad associated with his normal upbringing, which is likely the upbringing he promised himself he was going to give his children.
The nanny represents that failed promise. She kisses boo-boos, packs lunches, cooks what the children like, and sits to eat with them. His wife is usually in the business as well, and travels, works all hours, and manages a business team as well as the household team. She represents all the dad’s failures as a father, because she’s juggling everything but the children.
There were plenty of men who didn’t fall for the high-priced, educated, young, beautiful nanny, but there were plenty who did. You could read all about them while your food was on the conveyor belt at the grocery store. It happened so often it was surprising when it didn’t.
Despite Raymond’s numerous failings as a father and human being, he never hit on me. He never even looked at me cockeyed. I appreciated that, and as time went on I took it for granted. He was based in Los Angeles because he owned a conglomerate of internet and paper tabloids that fed off the very people he called friends. But because he wasn’t a celebrity himself, I could get him when the kids needed him, he respected what I did, and I loved Willow and Jedi.
“You had such a sweet deal with Raymond Heywood,” Blakely said, voice rising and falling with her gait.
“Yeah. I guess. But two gay bankers? This new family is even better. They aren’t interested in seducing women, they have no travel schedules, there are no paparazzi out front.”
“Yeah. You lucked out.”
She said it ruefully, and I understood why. She’d been caught with Josh Trudeau by his wife. Marsha Trudeau had recorded them from the bedroom closet and posted the video on YouTube. It was a mess. Blakely’s career came to an abrupt halt, but the damage to her heart was worse. She didn’t know he was a serial cheater. She’d confused a busy husband and wife with a failing marriage. She’d believed everything Josh had said and let herself fall in love. He was never going to leave his wife. They rarely do.
She got an apartment and didn’t leave it for months.
She worked as a dog walker and house sitter. She changed the name on her headshot to Sarah Colt and started over. Sometimes when she went on auditions she wasn’t recognized and got a callback. Sometimes it wasn’t that easy.
I thought about her a lot, because what happened to her terrified me.
I didn’t want it. Anything but that. People looking at a picture and deciding I was a whore. Strangers making a judgment about me. My blood turned to ice whenever I imagined it.
“I heard Ray and Kendall went back to West Side and asked for a woman in her fifties.”
When Ray Heywood let me go I moved in with Blakely. Her job prospects hadn’t improved, but she could do her own shopping and seemed to be moving on.
“Menopausal women are the horniest,” Blakely said. “And West Side doesn’t do unattractive or older, sorry to say.”
An old Korean couple in plaid golf visors waved and smiled.
Ruefully, Blakely continued. “I wish I could just change my face sometimes.”
My phone chimed. Speak of the devil. My agent.
“Hi!” I said while Blakely polished off her water.
Laura sounded businesslike and positive when she delivered bad news.
“Matt and Dom fell through.”
“What?”
“Sorry, Cara. It wasn’t you.”
“What do you mean it wasn’t me?” I felt the world shifting under my feet.
“They love you, they just decided they wanted someone who speaks Spanish.”
“I speak French! What’s wrong with French? Willow Heywood is fluent because of me. Did you tell them that?”
“I’m sorry, Cara. We can send you out again. You’re easy to place.”
I wanted to throw the phone. Instead I just hung it up.
Blakely had heard everything. She put her hand on my back.
“You’ll find something.”
“Sure. I’ll get hired and go in like a little puppy, all tail wagging and wanting to do a good job, then one of two things will happen. No. Three things. He’ll look at me like I hold the keys to the life he wanted and missed, and I’ll quit before I ruin their marriage.” I counted off a second finger. “Or the lady of the house will start snapping at me every time he’s in the room, or I’ll hit the lottery and get a single mom who won’t fire me until she gets a serious boyfriend. Then I’m out. And it’s not fair. Because they only want pretty nannies. Having their kids toted around by someone unattractive or middle-aged is like a black mark on their records. And we’re like inanimate household accessories until the person in the house with the dick feels sad or lonely.”
“Wow. You need some ice cream.”
I was frustrated and disappointed. I also had no business complaining about any of this to Blakely, who had it ten times worse.
“I’m sorry,” I said.