Confessions of a Teen Nanny Page 4

  “Oh, Liz. Right,” Cameron said without interest or recognition. “I guess I don’t know you, then.” She turned to go, and then turned back with a gleam in her eye.

  “I guess it’s just that sweater. I have one very much like it. But since mine was made especially for me by Miuccia Prada, it can’t be. Mine is exactly the same color as my eyes. They custom-dyed the cashmere for me. I wore it to last year’s Prada show in Milan.” Cameron smiled.

  I’m toast, Adrienne thought, and then the realization swept over her: Emma set me up! She knew that Cameron would notice, but she told me she wouldn’t! Adrienne waited for Cameron to expose her.

  “Well, I’ll let you two girls get to know each another,” Mrs. Warner said. “I’m off to meet my husband at the Neue Galerie uptown. You’ll make sure Emma gets into bed, won’t you, Adriana? She’s got to be in bed by eight or she’s so crabby when Tania wakes her in the morning. Bye, girls.” Mrs. Warner grabbed her purse off the table in the hall and walked into the elevator, which Kane held open for her.

  Cameron turned to Adrienne. “Okay, what’s your real name?”

  “What?” asked Adrienne.

  “Your real name. My stepmother is hopeless with names. She’s famous in New York for forgetting them. The only reason she remembers mine is because it is the name of the town where my father made all his money—Cameron, Texas.”

  “How’d he do that?” Adrienne asked.

  “Oil,” Cameron said without interest. “Your name?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Adrienne Lewis.” They looked at each other. “I’m so sorry about the sweater. It is yours.” Adrienne started to offer an explanation.

  “Don’t worry. Let me guess. You were in green, right?”

  Adrienne nodded. “I never would have borrowed it, but Emma…”

  “Ugh, my little sister is a toad. She lives to get people in trouble. Don’t worry about it. You can keep it—I’ve been photographed in it so many times, I can’t wear it anymore. Besides, it looks good on you.” Cameron tilted her head to the side. “You know, you have amazing green eyes. If you reddened your hair a little more, you could really bring them out. I’ll give you the name of my colorist.”

  “Well, thanks,” Adrienne said, not sure whether to be offended or flattered.

  “No problem. So, nice to meet you. See you soon. You’d better get Emma out of that bath. She always stays in until she gets pruny,” Cameron said with a giggle and a wrinkle of her perfect nose. “Ciao!” She walked toward her room, sashaying on the heels of her boots like a runway model.

  Emma had gone to bed without a struggle. She was exhausted.

  Adrienne said goodbye to Tania, and Kane showed her into the service elevator. Once inside, she opened up the envelope Mrs. Warner had given her. Three bills fell out: three one-hundred dollar bills! Three hundred dollars. Per day! Sixty dollars an hour. One dollar a minute! Amazing! For a second, Adrienne wondered if Mrs. Warner had made a mistake. Then she thought about the apartment full of art, Cameron’s five-thousand-dollar clothing allowance, and the plasma-screen TV in the kitchen, and realized that the money was for real and for her. She decided to splurge on a taxi.

  The ride to Morningside Heights on the Upper West Side was quick, and as soon as she was home, Adrienne called Liz.

  “It was awesome!” Adrienne said. “I got three hundred dollars for five hours’ work, and Cameron gave me a Prada cashmere sweater made especially for her. It is so gorgeous, I can’t stand it.”

  “Really?” Liz said, perplexed. “That doesn’t sound like the Cameron I know.”

  Adrienne told her the story of Mrs. Warner’s green-o-phobia and Emma and Cameron.

  “Oh, I get it now,” Liz said.

  “What?” Adrienne said.

  “It’s just that Cameron probably gave you the sweater not because she was being generous, but because she would never wear it again.”

  “She said that,” Adrienne admitted. “She said she’d been photographed in it a lot.”

  “Enjoy the sweater, Adrienne, but I wouldn’t wear it to the Warners’ again. Don’t ever remind Cameron you owe her one. And I think the reason she won’t wear it again is because she saw you wearing it.”

  “Are you serious?” Adrienne said, her feelings hurt. “Oh well, it’s a nice sweater. Talk to you tomorrow?”

  “You bet,” Liz said. “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Adrienne looked at the sweater, which sat on her chair. It was so luxurious, it managed to make her whole room look really shabby, and suddenly, thanks to Liz’s comment, it made her feel a little shabby, too.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  anything for Oprah

  “You cannot be serious!” shrieked Tamara Tucker, Adrienne’s best friend at Van Rensselaer High. “That little girl Emma watches Oprah?”

  “Seriously,” Adrienne replied. “It really looked like she would have a fit if she couldn’t. Maybe she’s just addicted to makeovers.”

  “Emma is too funny!” Tamara exclaimed. All their girlfriends at the lunch table laughed. Adrienne smiled at Tamara. Tamara was usually the center of attention at their regular corner table. Popularity came naturally to her. She had been blessed with a dancer’s body, gorgeous coffee-colored skin, and dark eyes that attracted the admiring attention of half the guys in their class. Plus, she had an unbeatable cutting-edge style.

  But this week, nothing that Tamara had to offer could change the fact that Adrienne was now the undisputed queen of their table. After only three days on the job, her stories of the crazy Warners were already in big demand.

  “Do the imitation of the Russian maid again!” Tamara urged.

  “No, tell me about the apartment again,” coaxed Adrienne’s friend Lily Singh.

  Adrienne launched into her description for the umpteenth time.

  “I love it when you tell the part about the elevator with no buttons,” Lily said. “I only wish my building had an elevator.”

  “In my building, the only pictures on the elevator wall are graffiti,” Tamara said, cracking everyone up.

  Adrienne laughed and looked up. Brian was standing there, smiling and waiting for her to finish. Even though they had been dating for two years, the sight of his deep brown eyes, wavy brown hair, and broad-shouldered body still made her heart skip a beat. He was so cute!

  “You done?” he asked, holding out his hand to her.

  “Completely!” she said. “Bye-bye, girls. I haven’t seen him all day.” The other girls hooted at them, as they walked away.

  “Hey,” Brian said, and smiled. “What have you been up to?”

  “Telling stories from work. Can you believe that the Warners have Picassos and all this silver, and Mrs. Warner’s jewelry is off the hook—”

  “I know, I know,” Brain interrupted. “I got your hundreds of text messages and e-mails. Remember?”

  Adrienne blushed. “Okay. Maybe I’m getting a little carried away. But it is cool. Right?”

  Brian shrugged. “I don’t really care about their stuff,” he said.

  Adrienne reached out and squeezed his hand. Brain was the least materialistic, most down-to-earth person she knew. He never cared about the trendy clothes, the expensive sneakers, and all the other stuff their friends used to compete with one another. That was one of the things that made him so attractive. So sexy. He was real.

  “So, besides all the stuff, what’s the family like?” Brian asked as the headed down the crowded hall.

  “Mrs. Warner is such a ditz. She can’t remember my name at all, but Cameron says she’s like that with everybody,” Adrienne said. She kept her fingers intertwined with his as they navigated a path to his locker. She loved the way their hands fit together so perfectly.

  “Sounds weird to me. How long are you working for them again?”

  “It’s just a week and a half more,” Adrienne said. “Not long.”

  “Are you going there after school today?” Brain asked as he swung open t
he metal door of his locker. Adrienne marveled every time at how neat and organized his locker was. Only one month into school and hers was stuffed full of random papers, forgotten sweatshirts, and junk.

  “Yes,” she said. “Liz and I have been meeting in the park at the bandshell after school. We walk over to 841 Fifth together from there.”

  “When are you done?”

  “About eight, why?”

  “Let’s go out tonight,” Brian said suddenly, his brown eyes sparkling. “I have a science lab after school, then we can get a slice of pizza after you finish.”

  “I can’t,” Adrienne said. “I have to go to study hall now to see if I can get all my homework finished, and everything I can’t get done then, I’ll have to do at home, late, after I get back from the Warners’.”

  “Come on…I’ll wait for you outside the building. We’ll grab a slice, and I’ll take you right home.” He gave her a big smile.

  “You’re crazy. It’s a school night. I said that I can’t—”

  Brian grabbed her around the waist and gave her a kiss right there in the middle of the hallway.

  “Well, maybe one slice,” she said, kissing him back.

  Adrienne and Emma sat together at the round table in the Warners’ kitchen while Adrienne stared at Emma’s homework. Emma went to a school for gifted children, but she also got work from tutors who came every day.

  Adrienne sighed. It was basic calculus, but it was practically what Adrienne was doing herself in class at Van Rensselaer. She stared at the equations, her mind reeling. Whatever happened to normal second-grade 2 x 2 = 4?

  “I’m going to need a minute,” she said to Emma. “Why don’t you go practice, so we can get it all out of the way in time for Oprah? There’s no reason for you to sit here staring at me while I try to work it out.”

  “Good idea,” Emma said. “I wish my parents would get TiVo. It would make my schedule a lot easier. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

  Emma retreated to the living room, and Adrienne whipped out her cell.

  “Hey there!” Brian answered. “You quit already?”

  “Almost,” she said. “I’m about to jump out the window over Emma’s calculus.”

  “An eight-year-old is doing calculus?” he asked incredulously.

  “Don’t ask,” Adrienne said.

  “The rich are twisted,” he said. “Eight-year-olds should be in the park. Hey, you and I should be in the park. Let me just get a pencil. Read me the equation.”

  Emma returned after Adrienne had gotten off the phone, and the two girls went over the math. Emma seemed pleased that Adrienne was able to explain something that had confused her.

  “I knew the textbook was badly written. It couldn’t be me.” She grinned. “What time is it?”

  “Time for cookies and Oprah!” Tania said, from behind the kitchen counter.

  The three sat down on the sofa, and Tania started pressing the buttons on the complicated remote control for the TV. Better her than me, Adrienne thought. I’d probably launch a space shuttle by accident with all those buttons.

  Nothing happened. The TV stayed blank.

  “What’s up?” Adrienne asked as Emma reached for the remote.

  “Oh no, oh no. Is me, I do it again,” Tania said.

  “What?” Adrienne asked, confused.

  “The satellite. Did you hit the satellite button again? It takes an hour to reset! An hour! Didn’t you learn last time?” Emma poked at the control, becoming increasingly upset.

  “It’s a new episode! I can’t miss it!” Emma’s eyes watered up. “Adrienne, fix it!”

  Adrienne stared at Emma. Now this, she thought, this is normal. This is the behavior of a spoiled eight-year-old. She glanced at Tania, who looked frantic. Adrienne took a deep breath. “Don’t worry. I’ll call Liz, and we’ll go downstairs and you can watch Oprah at the Markham-Collinses. Okay?”

  Emma began to calm down. “Okay,” she said. “But you can’t tell.”

  “Tell who?” Adrienne asked.

  “My mother,” Emma said quietly.

  “Miss Emma can no allowed to watch TV,” Tania explained. “I let her. Just a little bit.”

  Adrienne nodded. “Okay.” She turned to Emma. “First, apologize to Tania for acting that way,” she said.

  “Sorry,” Emma said in a petulant tone.

  Adrienne picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Hello?” Liz said.

  “Crisis,” Adrienne said. “Satellite is out. Oprah must be viewed.”

  “Understood. Come on down. Take the service elevator.”

  Emma and Adrienne hurried out the back door of the kitchen.

  “Take the stairs,” Emma advised. “The service elevator is slow, and they’re right underneath us.”

  They ran down the stairs, and as soon as they entered the Markham-Collinses’ apartment, Emma turned to Liz. “Which TV can I use? Keep me away from Heather. We have issues.”

  Adrienne looked at Emma and then at her friend.

  “Hurry,” Emma insisted, tugging at Liz’s skirt. “I’m going to miss the first segment, and it’s Beyoncé today.”

  “Library,” Liz responded. “Straight through the dining room. The TV is behind the painting on the wall. Hit the button to the left of the door. The control is on the table.”

  “Thank you,” Emma said politely, before running off.

  “That girl is a trip,” Liz said. “At least mine act like kids.”

  At that moment, a grim-looking little girl in a plaid skirt and blue sweater wandered in. She looked miserable. Her hair was dark, and even though she was a little bit bigger than Emma, she appeared rather fragile. Her eyes seemed worried, a cloud of anxiety hanging over her like a rainstorm. Adrienne assumed she must be Heather.

  “Who’s here?” she asked Liz. “I don’t know these people. My sense of security is very weak right now.”

  Liz smiled. “Heather,” she said calmly, “this is my friend, Adrienne. She and I have been friends since we were the same age as you and Emma.”

  “Emma and I are not friends!” Heather shouted. She took a deep and dramatic breath to calm herself. “I’m going back to my room now,” she announced.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” Adrienne said, staring at the little girl as she left.

  “Don’t let her psycho-babble fool you for a second,” said Liz, turning away from the door. “She’s a total operator, and I can guarantee you that she’s up to something. Come on, let’s check on David. He’s in the dining room.”

  “Lizzie!” he called out when he saw her. “I don’t want to eat this soy burger.”

  David was five years old and adorable, with a bowl haircut and a sweet expression. He was sitting alone at the huge dining-room table, looking sadly at what appeared to be a beige hockey puck on his plate.

  Liz approached him and put her arm around his shoulder. “I know, sweetie, but your mom says you have to eat a snack to keep up your energy.”

  “But why?” he asked, pouting.

  “It’s very good for you. It’s all natural.”

  Adrienne winced. It’s beige, she thought. Ugh!

  “I don’t want it,” he whined.

  “If you finish, I’ll give you gummy bears,” Liz said.

  “A little, or the whole package?”

  “The whole package. Do you want me to sit here with you, or should we leave you alone?”

  “Alone,” David said, grinning, “so I can throw it away!”

  “Let me know when you’re finished,” Liz said. “We need to make sure that no snoopy mommies can look in the garbage and see an unfinished soy burger!” She gave him a big smile.

  “Okay!” he said. The girls went into the kitchen.

  Adrienne looked at Liz in astonishment. “You just promised to pitch that burger,” she said. “Are you crazy?”

  “No,” Liz said. “I really like David. You know, I took him to his pediatrician a few months ago, and he said he was becoming anemic.
The doctor asked what he ate every day, and when I told him, the doctor was really pissed. He told me that this kid needs red meat from time to time, and not a diet of only soy and kelp.”

  “Did you tell his mom?” Adrienne asked.

  “Of course I did,” Liz answered, “but she has these wacko theories of how to raise children. She insisted that he could get all the protein he needed from soy.”

  “So what do you do?” Adrienne asked.

  “Well, I’ve been sneaking him out for a real burger several times a week after school.”

  “Did it work?” Adrienne asked.

  “You bet! He grew an inch and gained two pounds,” she said proudly.

  “What did his mom say?”

  “That soy is a miracle product and she was going to write a book about how kids should eat nothing but soy.”

  “She’ll make every kid in America sick!” Adrienne said. “Not my problem,” Liz said. “Let me show you the apartment.”

  The two girls walked through the rooms. The layout was basically the same as the Warners’, but the ceilings were lower and there was no skylight in the hall. Dr. Markham-Collins’s apartment was as spare and as empty as the Warners’ apartment was stuffed full of things. The walls were beige, the sofas were beige, the carpet was beige.

  Even the food here is beige, Adrienne thought. Everything matches.

  “I like it,” Adrienne said, though she didn’t. It wasn’t nearly as nice as the Warners’. “It’s very Zen.”

  “It’s been feng shui-ed,” Liz replied.

  “What’s that?” Adrienne asked.

  “A Chinese specialist came and determined where the energy flowed through the house, and they moved walls and added mirrors and water so that all of the good energy would be channeled into specific places in the apartment.”

  “So where is the good energy at?” Adrienne asked.

  Liz giggled. “It all goes into her office.”

  “No energy for the kids, then?” Adrienne asked.

  “Dr. Markham-Collins doesn’t give any of her own energy to her children. Why do you think she’d let the apartment give any of its energy to them?” The girls laughed at the craziness of it.