My Hollywood (25 page)

Paul picked up three oranges from a bowl on the table and spun them in an arc. He tossed one to the director, who caught it. There. He had them smiling. “No, seriously,” he said. “It strikes me as a matter of him having to grow into himself.”

“Are you setting limits at home?” the director asked.

“I try,” I mumbled.

“Maybe it’s your housekeeper a little.” Heidi, the assistant teacher, played with her fingers. “I don’t think she can really control him. She has to tell him things a lot of times. He pretends he doesn’t hear.”

“She doesn’t pick up the tones,” Janet said. “He needs help knowing what’s appropriate. Yesterday, she just grabbed Bing’s arm and said,
Why you cry?
”

The director nodded. “We see this with a lot of the foreign housekeepers.”

“Why
was
Bing crying?”
Crybaby
.

“Do you know?” Heidi looked to Janet. “I’m not sure either.”

“But Bing doesn’t usually fall apart for no reason,” the director said.

I slid a look at Paul. We weren’t so sure.

“What do you recommend we do to help Lola?” Paul asked.

The director shook her head. “I don’t know that you can.”

“But the nannies’ own kids are well behaved,” I said. “They sit up straight at the table and take turns talking. I asked Lola how the moms get them to do that.”

“She may not even know,” the director said.

Janet said, “What works in their culture may not work in ours.”

“Those children have been learning from their mother since they were babies. They’re fluent in her cues. She may make a tiny facial adjustment and they understand she means business.”

“So what can we do?” Paul said, hands on his knees. To the point.

The director said, “I’d think about replacing her.”

“But she loves him!” I said. “And he loves her.”

Paul put his hand on my arm.
Calm down
. He turned to the director. “Of course, we take what you’re saying seriously. We’ll have to think about all you’ve said.”

“A number of our families have felt the way you do, and I can tell you that if there’s been a goodbye ceremony, the parents are surprised. In a few days, the kids almost completely forget her.”

“We’re having the class party at our house.” I wanted them to know that, even so, Will had friends.

Janet nodded. “Not all our kids can swim. And believe it or not, you’re the only house this year without a pool.”

Oh. “You think Helen complained?” I asked Paul as we walked out.

He shook his head, arms crossed. “Should’ve said something to us first.”

It was a hard drive home. Lola helped us so many ways.

“Still, he’s in school now,” Paul said. “It’s a big expense.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Why, Claire? We’re in this together.”

But I was the one Lola helped. How had the food and the house become my job, though? Was it because Paul made more money now, or because Paul didn’t care? He would have left the sheets on the beds indefinitely. Lola made
us
possible.

“She’s not that much, compared to other nannies.”

“We’d have to do it sooner or later, anyway.”

I’d tried to talk to Lola about disciplining Will. Not spoiling him. When I was his age, I’d made my own breakfast. Of course, when I was his age, I’d coaxed my mother out of bed. I couldn’t wish my life for him.

Lola had laughed.
Claire, when we are young, we have houseboys. We will not do anything. Then, when we had to, we learn
.

The teachers said she was indulgent. It was true: he’d hit her. And what did she do?

Maybe it would be nice to be by myself in the house sometimes.

But it wasn’t only laundry Lola did. Every night, we ate together, the three of us. While I put him down, she cleaned the kitchen, then we sat again, the red teapot between us, my jar of flowers returned, and talked about Will’s day.

She worried with me about Will. Without her, I’d be alone.

When I stood to wash the teapot Lola said,
Leave, I will be the one
.

As I opened the front door, I heard Lola upstairs at the piano practicing her song. “Clair de Lune.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I dialed my producer. In two weeks, the deadline set when I’d postponed would come for my songs.

“How do you spell that?” his new assistant asked after I said my name.

Lola
THE CHOP

Birthdays here, they are like weddings almost. Williamo and I attended a party inside a striped tent on the beach. My kids, they took turns. Each year, one got the party. But Williamo, he is the only, so for the first birthday, Claire set the alarm for six o’clock to bake a cake with a chocolate she special-ordered from New York. For the second, she made a yellow cake, very buttery, with white frosting. Last year, we toothpicked together three layers, with orange, lemon, and lime rinds grated in and also the broken petals of roses to look like confetti.

This year, for the fourth, Williamo and I cover balloons with newspaper dipped in paste to make a piñata. For the stuffing, we will use penny candy, and I am sewing little bags for coins. When I almost took the one-hundred-ten-dollar-a-day job, I thought I could buy presents Williamo would never forget. Huge robots already put together from the window of Puzzle Zoo. But I chose time over money. Lola over robots. Now, the day of the party, I wish I had the gift to open the eyes big.

Claire, she stands already baking. This year, she uses a book. Williamo tasted Boston cream pie at another house and he wanted. So she squints, her reading glasses on. I can tell she has lost confidence because flour dusts the counter and the floor.

Outside, cardboard castles wait. Lil gave Claire that idea, and I asked Sears for refrigerator boxes. But they looked not so good in the yard and yesterday Williamo and I painted a base coat yellow. The doors to all the castles flap open, the sky a California blue. I tie a bunch of balloons to the mailbox so everyone will know that this is the house of the party.

I hear shouting. Claire wants that Williamo will put on a new button shirt. She looks upset from this Boston pie. I hold my elbows. The mother, she pleads. Why will she not say,
I have for you a reward
? Just a candy.

I help. “Put it on, Williamo, and I will give you something.”

Williamo sighs. It is what he does when he gives up.

Bing and my pupil arrive first. He runs in with wet hair. “I comb. Then just foof, with my fingers!”

“Where is your employer?” I say.

“I tell her, but she has Dr. Mars.”

“But how many chances to see Aleph Sargent?” Helen, she attends Dr. Mars twice a week.

Then they all arrive, and I fold and stack strollers. Ruth brings Ginger Saperstein and her granddaughter Aileen; Danny drove them so they could all see the movie star. Babysitters arrange themselves around the long table with food, and the moms stay by the beverages, sipping different waters. Aleph Sargent stands, arms pretzeled. “Brando’s mom,” she says, introducing herself.

“A little on small,” Cheska whispers.

“Not so much beautiful. Only just—nothing wrong,” my pupil says.

“That is what is beautiful,” I say.

“But she is not wearing a coat!” Cheska says.

Claire should greet the mothers, but she does not come out from the kitchen. Why this pie? I have seen her make two beautiful tarts in less than twenty minutes. Babysitters stare at the nanny of Aleph Sargent. Everyone wants to hear the life of a movie star. But Clarisse is talking about herself. “I’ve traveled many different places.”

“You are live-in?” my pupil asks.

Clarisse snorts. “Oh, yeah, have to. Couldn’t go a night without me.”

“The boy, Brando?”

“The girl. Without me, she can’t find anything. Sometimes we’re out and I get beeped.
Oh, Clarisse, have you seen my hairbrush?
”

“Aleph Sargent cannot find a hairbrush?” Lucy says.

“Very dependent.” When Clarisse shakes her head, loops of skin jiggle. Maybe she does not like Aleph. And Aleph, she is probably paying her a lot.

“Only babysit or clean up, too?” Mai-ling asks.

“I’m no housekeeper. I’m the nanny and she has me do her personal things. No one else
touches
her laundry.” I think of lingerie, fragile as spiderwebs.

“Of all the mothers, your employer has the biggest wardrobe!” I mean that for a soft joke.

But the giantess eye-rolls. “Two full rooms.” She nods, her head in a slant, the way of a horse, evenly chewing. “She converted a bedroom for her closet.”

“She is movie star! To be beautiful, that is her job.” I do not want to hear bad things about Aleph. She worked babysitter too.

“Li-ing!” Sue calls from the other table and Mai-ling springs up.

I follow because Claire may not even know there is a movie star in her backyard.

“Tissue, please,” Sue says. Mai-ling always carries Kleenex, tucked in the elastic of her leggings. Sue is the one to squeeze the nose of China. Then she gives the wad back.

In the kitchen, I find my employer, flour in the hair, a champagne bottle open. “It’s a disaster, Lole.” In front of her stands the glass pedestal, with one thin layer, the height of a pancake. On top of this, my employer ladles yellow sauce. “Supposed to be custard.”

“Where is the rest the cake?” I feel frightened; I do not want that she will fail.

“This is it, Lole, two layers. Hard as rock. We’ll toss a coin who goes to Vons.”

The layer should be more up. Custard should hold; this is a soup, spilling over the lip of glass. On top the mess, she sets a second layer. Then, she pours chocolate.

“Here goes nothing. Three and half hours. But he wanted it. And I tried.”

“It’ll taste great,” Paul says, stomping through the kitchen, camera around his neck. He stops to snap the dripping cake. To him, there is no difference. But Claire, she could not live with someone who minded. She minds too much herself.

Outside, the kids paint egg crates to glue onto the boxes for shingles. That anyway turned out a good idea.

Claire carries the cake and I go to get Williamo. I find him inside the only box not yet decorated, sitting in the corner, holding his knees.

“Why you are not fixing your castle?”

“I don’t know.” If all the castles become decorated except his, for Claire the day will be sad. “Too much noise.” We sit in the box together, hearing kids and mothers and babysitters; it is a lot of noise. I wonder if the things we do for kids are what they want anyway, because today he is not happy.

Then I lead him to the cake. Claire bends to light the candles and our boy blows. This is the only thing they still believe here. Wishes. Not prayers.

Claire cuts the cake and I pass around plates.

At the edge of the lawn, I hear a fight. But for once, I do not mind. Williamo sits here, looking at each bite cake. Aleph speedwalks to the hive. Clarisse stands and the whole bench shakes. Next to her Aleph is a stem. Clarisse pulls out Brando by the feet. China shrieks, climbing up and up on Mai-ling. Sue, ten feet away, says, “Oh, it’s all right. They all do it.” Sue, she is never the one to say,
They all do it
. Only when the mother of who did it is a movie star. Aileen runs to Ruth; she has a huge
bocal
. It seems Brando kicked her too.

“I’m sorry,” Aleph tells Claire, “but Mary says when he does it I should take him home.” Aleph leaves, carrying Brando, and it is like the air coming out a balloon. But now, we can talk.

“He does it to get at her,” Clarisse mutters, following behind, a cream puff crammed into one side her mouth.

“Clarisse, I do not like!” my pupil says. “And Aleph, she is so sweet, Lola! She could have anybody!”

“But-ah, maybe she wants a white.” I would like to see the inside of that house. My daughters, they will tell everyone that their mother in America visits movie stars.

Just then Helen and Jeff arrive, rolling in a red bike with training wheels, balloons tied on the handlebars.

Williamo hugs the thigh of Claire.

“Cake okay?” she asks. “Know it doesn’t look so hot.”

“Best cake I ever had.”

I finally taste. True, the layers are hard, but they crunch, and the runny custard tastes like home and goes very good with the chocolate.

I give the little sack with my presents: a new ten dollars and a mustard seed in a crystal ball for around the neck. The gifts when he is opening them look flimsy. I wish I would be the one to roll in the bike with balloons.

I turn because I hear fighting. Ginger Saperstein pushes Aileen off the lap of Ruth and Aileen turns on the grass, making a noise.

“Shhh,” Ruth whispers. “Shhh.”

I have never before seen Aileen like this. I have never once seen her cry. She does not like Ginger Saperstein. She cannot stand to see her grandmother bossed. But Ruth she has to answer the wishes of her employer.

“Get up,” Ruth says, down near Aileen.

Danny left already. Ruth will have to take three buses with Ginger back to Beverly Hills; Aileen will go home at the end of the day with Cheska.

Now the mother of Claire and Tom come up the lawn, her hand on his arm. She carries balloons and Tom hauls a small tree.

Ruth starts collecting paper plates to throw out. She always acts like this, too grateful.

“Why you leave before the piñata?” I ask.

Ginger Saperstein and Aileen only met at the wedding and once at Christmas when Aileen came dressed up to say thank you for her present. Even today, Aileen wears the old clothes of Ginger. Sue and another mother glance over. Ruth is right; Ginger becomes jealous. And today we have mothers who get jealous too. I will give Ruth cream puffs for the bus.

Standing with the bat, each child looks small, a little frightened. I am the one to tie the blindfold. Only one wins. And then just for a second. Williamo swings hard, but a little to the side. China, she slits the belly with her slug.

With paper plates, there is not so much to clean. Only bowls from the cake. Mai-ling sweeps, then starts wiping; she works like this. She will scrub every pan and then when that is done she will still be moving, clearing counters, drying the sink, polishing the spout of the faucet. I cover foods to save. The tablecloth, it is already spinning in the machine. It seems my body has more air inside, like angel food. I am wrapping cream puffs for Cheska and Aileen. We name the guests, remembering little bits of what they said. I feel proud we helped after the piñata that Williamo and China would not fight.

I walk with Cheska to the front, where wind tugs balloons from the mailbox. “That is her!” she says, pointing to a woman up the street. “From the Castle.” The Castle. It takes me a moment to understand because the kids today have castles too.

“That lady! She is the one! But you do not expect a second wife to be fat.”

Paul helps Melissa shove the castle of Simon into the back of her station wagon. The decorated refrigerator box of Aileen, they leave. She shrugs. They cannot carry on the bus. I pull a top off a lavender, for no reason. I am happy. Williamo said a nice goodbye to every one his guests. He kissed his grandmother and hugged a long time while Tom showed Claire where to plant the tree in the yard.

“I saw your boyfriend the other day at Sears,” I say.

“Who, Tom?
He’s
not my boyfriend.”

I bask. Only a small bit more to do and the house will be back. Houses here most of the time only wait. The owners feel afraid to use their living rooms, as if they will break, but look, now it is the same again. Like our bodies; we feel happiest after we give all. Williamo sprawls across his bed. The pots are put away; I pick up rags to throw in the machine. Then my employers come into the kitchen and ask me to sit down.

So now I am sitting. This is the time every year they say my raise, the mint at the end of the meal. I am thinking, in a colored swirl, maybe this raise will be big. From my weekend employers, maybe they found out my offer.

But they chop me. With the air of the party still here.

She is talking in her voice with the teeth; I have seen it before when she is saying she is sorry, but really her teeth they are a gate,
Do not come at me
. He said already what he said. He talks loud over her; he is being the man. They appreciate all I have done for William, he shouts, what I have given him, but his show will not air until September and his contract it is not yet renewed. It will depend on ratings.

They cannot afford me.

She is still talking, talking, but it is already done.

They chop me and he is not yet five.