The Manny

‘Russell! Take over.’ Russell, an older kid on the sidelines, waved back.

Mr Director put one arm around Darren’s shoulder and another on his arm and led him over to a park bench about thirty feet away. Darren, who seemed about eleven years old, wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. I was riveted. A few minutes passed and he seemed to be breaking through, gesticulating wildly. The kid started to laugh and this cute guy knocked his baseball cap off again – this time they both laughed – and Darren raced back and took his place again on the board.

All right, I thought. He doesn’t look like a psychopath. He doesn’t smell like a psychopath. Obviously, the kids like him. Let’s try this again.

‘Sorry …’

His expression was direct and polite. I was sure he wasn’t a native New Yorker.

‘You again?’ He smiled at me.

‘Yes, me again. I have a question.’

‘Want to get into the game?’ He cocked an eyebrow.

‘No … I mean, yes. My kid might.’

‘I’m afraid the group is pretty tight-knit. They’ve been together the whole summer …’

‘No, no, not that. I just was wondering,’ I asked, ‘do you have a full-time job?’

‘Yeah, I’m CFO of Citigroup. This is the investment banking division.’

I laughed out loud. ‘Seriously. Is this your job?’

‘No, it’s not.’

‘Do you have a job?’

‘Does it look like I have a job?’

‘Do you want a job?’

‘Are you hiring?’

‘Well, maybe. Do you know what a manny is?’

‘A what?’

‘Oh, God. I apologize. Let me start over. My name is Jamie Whitfield.’ I pulled out my business card and handed it to him. ‘I work at NBS News. I have three children. And I live nearby. Do you work with kids often in any capacity?’

He kept one eye on the group of kids. ‘Not really.’

‘You don’t work with kids? Like ever?’

‘I mean, I can fill in. They’re in no danger here, maybe have a little sugar high, that’s all.’

He just seemed like a guy who wouldn’t take any nonsense from Dylan and might turn things around. Maybe he had some free hours. Obviously if a real teacher asked him to control a group like this …

‘And what’s your name, and, if you don’t mind me asking, I have another question …?’

‘It’s Peter Bailey.’

I didn’t know how to begin, so I just blurted out: ‘I’m looking to fill a really good job that is high-paying. Afternoons and evenings.’

‘OK, so maybe I’m interested in a really good job that’s high-paying. What kind of job?’

I took a breath. ‘It’s complicated.’ I needed a few seconds to come up with my marketing strategy.

‘OK.’

‘I have a son. He’s nine. He’s, well, he’s kind of down. A bit depressed even.’

‘Clinically depressed?’ Now I had his full attention.

‘Well, no, there’s no formal diagnosis, he just had some panic attacks. Can’t perform at sports any more really because of them.’

‘And how do you see me fitting into this?’

‘Well, I don’t know, maybe the chess …’

‘I know how to play chess. But I’m not a chess tutor. Though the high-paying part might make me a good chess tutor.’ He grinned.

‘Well, not just a chess tutor exactly, but yes, why not, some of that.’

‘I see.’

My cell phone buzzed inside my purse. I reached to turn off the ring tone and saw Goodman was calling. Maybe he wanted more Windex.

‘Look, you need to get back to them and I have somewhere I’m supposed to be. You have my card. If you wouldn’t mind, please call me in the morning and I’ll tell you more.’

‘Sure. I’ll call you. Nice to meet you.’

I stopped for a moment and then walked back to him. ‘Can I just ask you one thing?’

He nodded.

‘How did one person get thirty-two kids with huge papier mâché contraptions on their heads into the middle of Central Park?’

‘Hey. I didn’t do anything. I had help: them.’ Then he turned back to the kids.

And as I wandered back to the West Side, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.

CHAPTER SIX Time to Talk Turkey

‘So!’ I had no idea what to say.

Peter Bailey looked at me expectantly. He sat in a chair across from my desk at work wearing khakis and a white button-down shirt. I found his stillness strangely intimidating. I couldn’t figure out why I felt so ill at ease if I was hiring him.

‘So, thank you for calling me back,’ I said.

‘Thank you for asking.’

‘So!’

‘Yes?’

‘Did you get here OK?’

‘This building is on one of the biggest intersections in Manhattan. Avenue of the Americas and 57th Street is pretty easy to find, you know.’

‘It is. Yes. I …’

‘Cool seeing a newsroom behind the scenes.’

He took in the hundreds of tapes lining my office shelves, each categorized by topic and show with huge letters on the spines. Two colourful posters advertising a past broadcast inside the CIA and a ‘groundbreaking’ West Bank town meeting filled the walls on either side of my desk.

‘Yeah, it’s kind of messy behind the anchor desk.’

‘Not in here.’ Next to me were four newspapers neatly piled in a descending row and my office supplies in their black wire baskets on my credenza: Sharpies and Post-its in every colour, little boxes with drawers for different sizes of metallic binder clips, legal pads and reporter’s notebooks in perfect bunches.

‘You’ve worked for Joe Goodman for a long time?’ he asked.

‘Ten years. Since I started out here. I was twenty-six.’

‘What’s he like?’

‘Great mind, lyrical writer. But, well, he’s demanding, let’s just say that.’ I didn’t want to tell a manny candidate that Goodman was cranky, crusty and usually ungrateful.

‘Yeah, seems like he’s pretty full of himself.’ Peter pointed to the enormous portraits of Goodman lining the hallways outside my office: one of Anchor Monster in front of an armoured personnel carrier dressed in a Kevlar vest and a blue UN helmet, another next to Boris Yeltsin on a tank and another with cameras and lights visible as he interviewed Lauren Bacall who threw her head back laughing as if he’d asked her the most brilliant question in the world.

‘You watch the show?’

‘Not really.’

Most people would at least pretend.

‘You’re at your computer a lot, I guess. I read on your résumé that you’re developing this online software? So doesn’t that take up a lot of time?’

‘The hours are flexible. The software program – I’m calling it Homework Helper by the way – will, I hope, change the way students in public schools communicate with their teachers. It’ll help them collaborate on assignments. Some people tell me it may be quite lucrative once the schools catch on.’

I liked this guy. I had no idea if this software thing was some lofty plan or if it had legs, but he seemed focused and assured underneath his scrappy exterior.

‘Well, that certainly sounds like it will be a full-time job. And if that happens, I worry you’ll …’

‘The software program isn’t a job. It’s an idea. And I believe it’s going to be big at some point, but, truth is, I’m not there yet.’

My phone rang. ‘So sorry. Give me a second … Jamie Whitfield.’

I should never have picked up the receiver.

‘Oh thank God you’re there.’

‘Who is this?’

‘It’s me, Christina.’ Christina Patten. One of the great airheads of our time and the class mom at Gracie’s nursery school class. ‘Christina, I’m in the mid—’

‘Sorry, Jamie, I just have one really really important question. I mean, on the scale of things, I guess it’s not crucial, but it’s just one of those things you have to get right.’

Balancing the receiver between my ear and shoulder, I reached awkwardly into the fridge behind my desk and pulled out two small Evian bottles and handed one to Peter. I’d missed what Christina was saying, but I figured the world would still turn.

‘… I mean, you’re a professional producer, right? So you should know. I’m sure you’re soooo great at organizing. That’s why I’m calling you on this.’

‘Christina, I really hate to rush you, but it’s just not the most convenient …’

‘Here’s the thing. Do you think I should bring the medium-sized dessert paper plates for Grandparents’ Day, or do you think I should bring the larger lunch-size plates?’

Surely she had to be kidding.

‘I mean, do you think the grandparents will be putting fruit salad and mini muffins on their plates? Or do you think it will be fruit salad and mini muffins and a half-bagel? Because if you really think it’s a half-bagel too, then I want to get the big ones. But if not, I don’t want the plate to look empty even though they have kind of filled it with a mini muffin and some fruit.’

‘Christina. It’s not the Normandy invasion. I know you’re really trying to pick the best thing, but just trust your instincts and …’

‘A big plate with just a mini muffin and fruit salad? It wouldn’t work, and I think it would look really sad. That’s what my instincts are telling me.’

‘I agree. That would be sad, Christina. I think they’ll eat a bagel and mini muffin too. Go for the big plates. That’s my expert advice.’

‘Are you sure? Because …’

‘Positive. And I really really have to go now!’

Click.

I looked at Peter. ‘I’m sorry, just domestic nonsense.’ Not the smartest thing I could say at an interview with an overqualified guy to fix the problems in my domestic life.

The digital clock on my desk blinked to the next minute. He was so still in his chair.

He leaned in closer. The leather on the chair squeaked. ‘And what, exactly, do you have in mind?’

I’d been vague on purpose. I’d learned from Goodman that it’s best to use the phone to lure someone into a face-to-face meeting first. Then you hit him or her with what you really want in person. I didn’t want to lose this guy because I’d given him some half-baked manny overview on the phone.

OK, Jamie. Get yourself together. I took a deep breath. ‘Well, it’s like this. I have a kid, actually three kids, like I told you. Dylan is nine, Gracie is five and the baby, Michael, is two. And, well, Dylan’s the one I mentioned to you already.’

‘I remember.’

‘He’s a little out of sorts these days. His father is gone all the time, and though I work three days here, sometimes I have special projects that bleed into the rest of the week. And sometimes I have to travel. And my son needs a male figure to kind of peel him off the floor. That’s the one thing I’m sure of. Little boys worship older guys who pay attention to them.’

‘I know.’

‘And so, he knows a little chess, he loves to read and draw, but the sports thing is not working and …’

‘So you want me to work on the chess with him? You gave me an awfully high figure on the phone. That’s a lot of money for just chess.’

‘It’s really like, come in the afternoon, mostly at pick-up time, which is 3 p.m.

And work with him.’

‘Work with him how?’

‘Well. He’s nine. Not, like, work.’

‘OK, then you mean homework.’

‘Yes. Definitely. But also much more than that. I mean, he needs someone to play with him.’ In my head I was thinking, just make him better, please just get him liking himself again. Suddenly I felt my eyes begin to sting and quickly picked up his résumé to hide my face.

‘I mean, you have a master’s in computer science, and you’ve taught skiing. You worked in this textbook company. That’s a family business?’

At this point in the interview, I learned the following: he was twenty-nine years old, turning thirty in December. He grew up in the suburbs of Denver, studied four years at Boulder before joining the workforce, mostly for his dad in his educational printing operation. He’d gotten his master’s degree in computer science at nights.

When I asked for more details about his Homework Helper idea, I began to see how creative the idea really was. He was so impassioned by it that I honestly got lost halfway through, but I didn’t let on. He’d moved to New York because he’d made headway testing Homework Helper in the New York City public school system. And, like many Internet start-ups discover after the initial excitement, there were some major kinks in the program. He had a few more tenuous months in the red ahead of him. Plus he had graduate school loans to pay off.

I had started to understand why this guy didn’t have a more traditional career in place – he was entrepreneurial, a bit of a risk-taker. What did the long wavy hair signify? Was this a mountain dude ski bum who’d enjoyed the slopes a bit too much after college or was he just someone who didn’t ruthlessly climb career ladders? I couldn’t peg him, though I hung on his every word. As he spoke, I studied his prominent cheekbones and large blue eyes. He looked like someone who would take command of any situation, though there wasn’t a bureaucratic bone in his body. I felt he was responsible and trustworthy right away, if a little bit of a screw-up on the career front.

Then I told him everything I could think of about Dylan, about the basketball meltdown, about how he’d pulled back from some of his friendships at school, and my fear that things would get worse.

‘And what about his father, if you don’t mind me asking? Are they close?’

‘Sure they are.’

‘Does his father play chess with him? What do they do together?’

Phillip hadn’t sat down on the floor with Dylan since he was three years old. ‘Well, on weekends, we all have lunch together, or my husband might take him to a movie. Phillip very much wants him to become a life-long reader, so they lie on the couch and read about airplane engineering or something. You know, Phillip’s a lawyer, he’s gone most of the week. He sees the kids for breakfast and just before bedtime, maybe once or twice a week.’

‘Do they go to the park on weekends or anything?’

Phillip hated playgrounds. And he wasn’t one to stroll around the park and enjoy the nature. ‘Uh, sure, they’ve been to the park together. I mean, it’s not like a regular thing they do.’

‘So you live, like, a block from the park and you have a nine-year-old boy and it isn’t a regular thing?’ He smiled. ‘I mean, I’m not criticizing here, I’m just not getting …’

‘No, Dylan goes to the park with his friends all the time – or, well, he used to.’

‘OK, but not with …’

‘No. Not with his father. Like ever.’ I wondered if he’d ever come into contact with a Grid lawyer before. I tried to imagine the loop going on in his head at that moment – something about spoiled kids and how much parents like me and Phillip were messing them up.

I needed a break. ‘And where are you living, Peter, if that isn’t too personal?’

‘I share a loft with two guys in Brooklyn, Red Hook actually. You know it?’

‘I, I know Brooklyn, yes.’

He grinned. ‘I can’t really see you in Red Hook.’

I had to grin back. His irreverence charmed me. For the first time during the interview I felt myself relax. ‘Well, actually, I have a lot of friends who live in Brooklyn.’

He didn’t look convinced. The burgeoning working-class Red Hook and the toney, yuppie Brooklyn Heights – where I really do know some people (vaguely) – are continents apart.

‘So what do your roommates do?’

‘One wrote a novel that got great reviews, but he had to bartend because even good books don’t make any money. So he got a job working for a hot literary agent at InkWell Management. The other is the teacher in the public school system. The one I was subbing for. He’s consulting on my program.’

‘So each of them have pretty set career paths.’

‘I guess so. But you’re offering more than they make.’

‘So is the salary more important than a set career path?’

‘I’m on a set career path. Listen, are you trying to convince me not to take this job?’

I put my tough reporter hat on. ‘OK, let’s talk turkey.’ I took a sip of water. ‘You’re living in this year’s hip new Brooklyn neighbourhood, even I know that. You’re personable, smart and well educated, and of course I’m not trying to scare you off. But I need to know how you feel about working in someone’s home when your friends are becoming teachers and agents? Would that be …’

‘Be what?’

‘You’re almost thirty. Do you mind taking a job like this?’ I crossed my fingers under the desk. ‘In a household with kids?’ I hated saying that out loud, reminding him he was a guy with a graduate degree on an interview to become a Park Avenue nanny. But I also didn’t want him ditching us after a week when he realized what he’d agreed to. ‘I mean, not that it isn’t, you know, substantive; some consider it a calling to work with kids … have you ever even heard of the term “manny”?’

‘No. But now that you say it, I get it right away.’ He laughed. ‘Now I’m remembering. Britney Spears has one.’

‘Well. I mean, for her, that’s a bodyguard guy. I think the word “manny” sounds kind of …’

‘What?’ I was thinking demeaning, but I didn’t say it.

He leaned in closer. The leather on the chair squeaked. ‘I think the word “manny” is hilarious.’

‘So you don’t mind it?’

‘First of all, I’m never going to be a suit.’

‘But you have worked in offices.’

‘Not happily.’

‘Like at the Denver Educational Alliance? You didn’t list a reference from there.’

‘I’d been there for fourteen months doing a study. You’re not going to get a reference.’

‘You mind telling me why?’

‘Happy to. They do great work, but the founder’s a passive aggressive guy who likes to make his colleagues miserable, and, frankly, I told him so.’

‘You told him he was passive aggressive?’ What will he think of me? A lame Park Avenue mother trying to have it all.

‘Not in those words. Well, maybe I used that term, but I was very clear and respectful when I said it. Listen, someone had to say it. My boss was a complete jerk. And one day we were in a meeting, and, as usual he was completely undermining a colleague, a woman whose work was top-notch and I just couldn’t take it. Anyway, I said all the things I knew everyone else was thinking.’

‘That’s, I guess, impressive.’

‘You know what? I didn’t tell you that to impress you. Just to show you I don’t like the BS that goes with the structure of an office. This is why I like kids. Because kids tell you what they mean. First time out. And if you just listen, they have an innate sense of fairness that I totally respond to.’

‘I get that.’

‘I also like working independently. Honestly, your job sounds good. I can’t do a full-time gig right now, and the job would let me work on the computer project whenever I’m not needed during the day, with Dylan in school. I assume I would go home after he’s asleep, right?’

‘Yes. Carolina lives in, so she’s fine to cover if we’re out or something.’

‘And the other kids?’

‘Sometimes I might need you to pitch in. It’s hard in a family with three kids just to focus on one child at a time.’

‘Makes sense, but I’m not totally experienced with little kids.’

‘The regular nanny will be there all the time. I’m going to need you in the mornings sometimes too, just for drop-off mostly if I am travelling or whatever.’

‘If I’m available, sure. Depends on how the software’s going. How often do you think that might be?’

‘Like a few times a week.’

‘That’s fine. If I can.’ I was getting the impression this guy wasn’t meant for the service industry.

‘And you’re sure this position is something for you …?’

‘Scout’s honour.’ He put two fingers in the air. ‘Listen, if all goes according to plan, my project should hit in about eighteen to twenty-four months. And when that bang happens, Dylan’s going to be off and running like new.’

I laughed. ‘Sounds like a plan. So you like New York?’

‘I do. But also, my backers are here. All the technology funds are here …’ He looked down. ‘And … and there’s a little situation at home I don’t need to be around.’

‘A situation? Something I should know about?’

‘Nah. No big deal.’ He looked up with a slightly crooked smile. ‘Sorry. It’s personal.’

Charles had done a thorough background check including his criminal record and there was nothing. Besides, I didn’t want to pry. At least, not then.

‘But I do have one problem,’ Peter said.

‘This is an interview. You’re not allowed to have a problem yet.’

He smiled. ‘You told me Dylan’s dad is gone all the time. You can buy someone’s time and attention, but it is not the same as a dad. And for what the job pays, I don’t want to disappoint you – or him – from day one. Dylan’ll figure out right away I’m pinch-hitting for his father. How do you think he’ll feel about that?’

I knew Dylan would do just that. But I also felt that Dylan would have such fun with this cool guy that he wouldn’t focus on it.

The door banged open. A bright canary-yellow flash whooshed through. Abby, breathless, clad in a brand-new suit looking like a car rental agent.

‘You’re never going to believe this. There’s another fucking Theresa Boudreaux tape!’

Wow. Maybe I had a shot at career redemption. ‘I knew this wasn’t over. I just knew it! Are you sure? How do you know?’

‘Charles.’

Charles appeared and leaned against the doorway. He eyed Peter, then me, reticent to talk business in front of yet another manny candidate.

Peter already had his hands on the armrests, ready to stand.

‘Peter, sorry. I’ve got a little situation here. There’s a chair right outside my office.’

He gave a little wave to Abby and Charles, then closed the door behind him.

Charles piped in, ‘That guy is a major piece of ass.’

‘Please. This is a professional environment.’

‘And it’s really professional to interview your mannies here.’

I ignored that. ‘So what do you hear?’

‘I hear these tapes blow the other ones out of the water.’ Charles clasped his hands together. ‘Plus whatever tapes she gave the Seebright people were crap anyway. You couldn’t really hear a thing and I hear these new tapes are the real deal.’

‘Doesn’t make sense. If you’re going to talk, just talk.’

‘Maybe she liked the publicity but held back. Maybe she had some kind of scruples that are now gone.’

‘Oh, c’mon. Scruples nothing.’

‘The point is that the story is snowballing. Maybe she wants to ride a bigger wave? Get a book deal, sell her life story to the movies!’

Charles sat on the edge of my couch. ‘You’re gonna come out on top of this one and blow by ABS’s doors. It’s your time to shine, baby!’

Erik and Goodman had barely spoken to me since Theresa went to the rival network, even if she hadn’t broken any new news.

‘Our affiliate in Jackson, Mississippi, is trying to get the new tapes; the local newspaper reporters are all over it,’ Charles continued. ‘No one’s got anything yet. The station manager called Goodman to see if he could use his big network muscle with Theresa Boudreaux. I guess they knew we were close to getting the interview, even though we didn’t. Or I guess you didn’t.’

‘Thanks for reminding me. What do you think is on these tapes? What could be on that woman’s mind …?’

Abby screamed at me, ‘Would you please just call Leon Rosenberg and stop asking dumb questions we don’t know the answer to?’

I dialled, remembering I had hung up on him during our last conversation. His impossible secretary answered once again.

‘It’s Jamie Whitfield from the NBS Evening News. I need to talk to Leon.’

‘Hello, Ms Whitfield. I will have to …’

‘Please don’t tell me you’re going to “see” if he’s in, Sunny. I know he’s in. That’s why I’m calling him. There’s a breaking story with Ms Boudreaux.’

‘We are aware there is a breaking story, but unfortunately about twenty reporters have called before you this morning. So I think it’s only fair …’