Confessions of a Teen Nanny 02 - Rich Girls (5 page)

there is no Mrs. Fine

T he elevator door opened onto a tiny vestibule. Adrienne hesitated, looking around for something resembling a stationery store.

"Come on," Emma urged. "We want to get this done before I qualify for Social Security, right?"

Adrienne followed Emma through the glass French doors that opened into a waiting room. A huge, marble- topped giltwood table stood under an ornate mirror and nearby, a young man in a cashmere sweater sat at a long, granite-topped reception desk.

Adrienne swallowed and looked down at her list.

Go to Mrs. George M. Fine. Order the invitations as I've indicated below. Remember this is a RUSH order. Do NOT allow them to say no. --COW

The young man glanced up. "Hello, Emma," he said, smiling and coming out from behind the desk to greet her.

"Hi, Nick," Emma replied.

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He looked at Adrienne. "And you are . . . ?"

"Oh! I'm--" Adrienne began.

"She's my nanny, Adrienne," Emma said.

"Hello, Adrienne," Nick said, shaking her hand. It was oddly cold and clammy."Can I get you ladies something to drink?"

"I'll have a Coke," Emma said.

"Uh, me too," Adrienne added. Nick nodded and walked out of the room. "You know him?" she asked Emma.

"Sure," Emma said, shrugging. "Mrs. Fine does all my birthday invitations."

"Will we meet Mrs. Fine?" Adrienne asked.

"There is no Mrs. Fine," Emma explained wearily. "There's Mrs. Clark and Mrs. Grey."

Nick came back in and pointed to a glass door.

"Mrs. Clark is ready for you in the Red Room, girls. Your sodas are in there."

"Thanks," said Emma, charging ahead of Adrienne as if she owned the place.

Adrienne followed her into a room with deep red walls. Two desks were lit softly by shaded lamps that cast pools of light across the rich mahogany. Against the far wall, enormous, red-glazed cases held hundreds of invitations--some for weddings, state events, and other important occasions. Adrienne's eyes passed over paper

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bearing some very famous names: presidents, movie stars, and several of Emma's classmates.

"Hello, Emma!" said a cheerful woman with gray hair and small horn-rimmed glasses. She was probably in her early sixties but had an ageless quality that only money could buy. Her demure navy suit was so simple, Adrienne knew it had to have cost major bucks. "You can't already be planning for nine?"

"No," Emma said."We're here for invitations to a stu- pid tea for Cameron."

"Your mother didn't want to be here for that?" Mrs. Clark looked perplexed.

"She's busy," Emma declared, sitting down in the mahogany chair. "She sent my nanny, Adrienne."

Adrienne sat down next to Emma and looked at the pleasant woman across the table, unsure of what she was supposed to do next.

"Well," Mrs. Clark said,"are we looking for something traditional?"

Adrienne swallowed. From the way the woman nodded and emphasized the word "traditional," Adrienne figured they were.

"Let's take a look at some samples, shall we?" Mrs. Clark suggested.

So much paper! Adrienne had no idea there were so many kinds and weights.Vellum, plate-finish, 2-ply, 3-ply,

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4-ply. Paper heavy enough to make furniture out of! At Staples, all Adrienne had to choose between was recycled and regular.

Finally, Mrs. Clark's well-manicured hands flew over the calculator."Let's see.With the rush delivery charge that comes to . . . four."

Adrienne blinked. "Four dollars an invitation?" Wow, that's pricy, she thought. They should consider e-vites. They'd save a bundle!

"No." Mrs. Clark smiled. "Four thousand dollars."

Adrienne was aghast. "For fifty invitations?"

"No, for a hundred.That's our minimum. Mrs.Warner keeps the rest, I guess."

"She throws them out," Emma declared, leaping off her chair. "I've seen her do it. Can we go now?"

"I guess Emma has decided we're finished," Adrienne said with a laugh.

"She has been awfully patient with all these arrange- ments," Mrs. Clark said with a smile.

"Stop talking about me as if I'm not here," Emma fumed.

"You're right," Adrienne said. "We're being rude."

"Thank you," Emma said.

Adrienne looked at Mrs. Clark. "Are we done?"

"Yes, we are. And you'll have the invitations the day after tomorrow."

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"Thanks," Adrienne said.

"Have you been with the Warners long?" she asked as she walked Adrienne to the door.

"A few months," Adrienne replied.

Mrs. Clark gave her an appraising look."You've lasted longer than most," she said.

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the perfect pink

T he invitations for the tea arrived two days later, as prom- ised. Mrs.Warner stood at the window, examining them in the natural light, as Adrienne waited anxiously for the ver- dict.

To Adrienne's eye, they were perfect. The crisp black lettering stood out from the creamy vanilla paper, and the Warner monogram glowed softly at the top in a burnished gold. Understated and elegant--nothing like Cameron.

"They're beautiful," Mrs. Warner said. She gave Adrienne an appraising look."I never would have thought that you would have such taste.Who knew?"

Is that supposed to be a compliment? Adrienne wondered.

"Adriana, because you did such a good job with these, I'm going to give you a real opportunity. I need you to make sure that everyone is doing their very best for us. Like a party planner."

"Don't you have a party planner?"Adrienne asked. She

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had seen a petite woman with a clipboard and trendy glasses following Mrs.Warner around for the last few days.

"We did, but I fired her this morning. She really wasn't able to get things done the way you and I can.We're such a great team, and this will be easy. Of course, I'll pay you an additional fee. And . . . ," she added pointedly,"the more time you spend here, the better an eye you will be able to keep on Byron."

Adrienne thought for a moment. Mrs. Warner was right. If she was involved in the party, she would know where Cameron was every minute of the day and night, which meant she'd also know Brian's whereabouts. She also knew Mrs.Warner didn't want to pay a party planner, when she could get Adrienne to do all the work. Mrs. Warner dropped enough money every week on highlights, chemical peels, massages, and manicures to feed a small third-world country, but when it came right down to it, the woman was cheap. I guess that's how the rich stay rich, Adrienne thought.

"Okay," Adrienne decided. "I'll help."

"WONDERFUL!" Mrs. Warner said with relief. "Here's the list, take the car. Oh, and make sure you get Emma dropped off at piano at Juilliard by four. And after that, stop by here and pick up the invitations.They'll all be addressed by then.Thanks, darling.You're an absolute treasure. Ciao!" Mrs. Warner left the room and headed for her

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bedroom, where her masseur waited to ease the stress of the day from her shoulders.

Adrienne stared down at the list. She had it all ready for me, Adrienne realized. She knew I wouldn't say no.

Shaking her head, she went to collect Emma. "Ready for piano?" she asked.

The little girl looked at her and sighed. "Adrienne, you are incessant in your demands that my punctuality rise to an insupportable level of accuracy. My Technical Pianoforte Seminar has yet to commence at the predesig- nated hour."

Adrienne raised her eyebrows, then glanced at the book Emma was reading: Barron's SAT Vocabulary. That explained Emma's bizarre language. She's going to do better on that test than I am,Adrienne realized. I've been so busy with this tea, I haven't had a chance to study!

"Sorry, kiddo," Adrienne said as Emma packed her music into her Coach backpack. "Just doing my job."

"It is well in advance of our regular departure," Emma said.

"We have things to do first," Adrienne said, guiding the girl by the shoulder to the elevator.

"And what dreaded engagements must I endure?" Emma asked, stepping into the elevator.

Adrienne looked at the list."Petrossian, Les Couleurs, and Valentino."

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"In an hour?" Emma said. "You can't do it."

"Watch me," Adrienne said defiantly. What is it about Emma that makes me constantly feel challenged? Remember who's in charge here!

Emma popped a DVD of yesterday's Oprah into the player in the car. Adrienne leaned back in the seat, watch- ing Central Park zoom by as they headed across town.The car soon pulled up to Petrossian, the city's most expensive caviar merchant.

Adrienne looked at her list. Mrs.Warner's huge, distinc- tive handwriting sprawled across the notepad that Adrienne now recognized as having been made by Mrs. Fine.

Order a kilo of caviar for the party. Don't let them talk you into buying the gray beluga. It's too expensive, and no one knows the difference.

Adrienne and Emma walked into the beautiful mosaic- tiled interior of Petrossian.

"May I help you?" asked a woman with a French accent.

"Yes, please," Adrienne said. "I'm here to place an order for Mrs.Warner."

For a moment the woman looked worried, then quickly recovered. "Mrs. Warner isn't coming in herself?" she asked.

"She is employing Adrienne as her surrogate shopper," Emma explained.

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The French woman looked confused, then smiled at Adrienne a little warily."Do you have explicit instructions? I know how choosy Mrs.Warner can be."

Mrs.Warner's diva reputation clearly precedes her, Adrienne thought.Then she realized that all Mrs.Warner had told her was to not buy the most expensive stuff, but that still left a lot of choices. She hoped the salesgirl would guide her.

"Well, I'm not allowed to buy the gray beluga . . . ," Adrienne said.

A slow smile spread across the French woman's face. "Ah. But, of course.We are in the market for something a bit less . . . a bit more . . ."

"Cheap," Adrienne finished.

The saleswoman fought back a laugh. "Let us say `good value.'"

The saleswoman looked in her computer to see what Mrs. Warner had ordered in the past, and duplicated it. Adrienne would pick it up the day before the tea. In a few minutes, Adrienne was ushering Emma back to the car.

"You have thirty-five minutes to get to Les Couleurs, Valentino, and my piano lesson," Emma declared. "If you want me to be there on time, that is."

"Oh, so now we're talking like normal people?"

Emma stuck out her tongue and turned back to the TV screen, where Will Smith was joking with Oprah.

She's right. There's no way that I'll make it, Adrienne

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thought. "Excuse me," she said to the driver. "Can you please take us to Juilliard music school?"

The driver nodded and turned toward the west side.

"I'll drop you off," Adrienne told Emma, "and then come back for you.You'll be okay, right?"

"I'm always okay," Emma said, rolling her eyes.

After dropping Emma off at her music lesson, the driver returned to Madison Avenue and rolled to a stop in front of Les Couleurs.

Les Couleurs was a makeup shop that did everything custom: powders, lipsticks, nail polish--anything you wanted could be customized to your own specifications. It cost a fortune but, according to Mrs.Warner, it was the only place to go. Adrienne looked at her instructions.

For the tea, we need a lovely pink nail polish for Cameron. Not a bubble-gum pink, or a shell pink, but not a baby-girl pink, either. A pink more like the sand on Eleuthera or in Tahiti--but in May, not July.

Adrienne rolled her eyes. She has GOT to be kidding.

"May I help you?" asked the college-aged salesgirl behind the counter. Her dark hair was cut in a severe 1920s style bob, and her makeup was quite dramatic.

"I hope so. I need," Adrienne said, reading from the list,"a pink like sand but not like bubble gum. More like a shell. Or something."

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"Oh, man." The salesgirl shook her head, smiling. "You're here for Mrs.Warner, right?"

Adrienne nodded.

"She's a trip. She once came in and wanted to match a piece of thread she had pulled out of some maharani's sari in India. We matched it perfectly. It was, like, this outra- geous hot pink with a touch of a gold shimmer.When she saw it, she said it wasn't good enough. `I meant the idea of a maharani's sari,'" she said, in a perfect Mrs.Warner imita- tion,"`not the actual color of it!'" She laughed, and Adrienne laughed with her.

"You have her down cold," Adrienne said.

"What impossible quest did she send you on today? I'm Gina, by the way."

"Adrienne," she replied, grateful that the girl under- stood the situation. "We're still looking for the perfect pink, it seems."

"We'll never match what she wants. We'll have to make it up," Gina said. "What's it for?"

"This party," Adrienne said, pulling one of the invita- tions from her purse. She figured if Mrs.Warner was going to throw out half of the expensive invitations, she might as well keep one as a souvenir. She handed it to Gina, who pulled the heavy card from its envelope.

"Wow," she said."Pretty!" She lifted the tissue overlay off of the invitation. "What's the tissue for?" she asked.

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"To stop the ink on the card from smearing. It's sort of "--Adrienne's eyes widened--"THE PERFECT PINK!"

Gina looked at the tissue. "You're right!" she cried. "I can easily copy this color--it's excellent!"

Gina crossed to her machines and began to fiddle with knobs and dials introducing hits of red, yellow, and blue into a neutral nail varnish base until she had matched the pink exactly. "Now that is beautiful," she said, holding the varnish out to Adrienne.

Adrienne took it. Gina was right: It was a perfect match. "That is so cool!" Adrienne said.

Gina handed Adrienne a second bottle. "Here's one for you, too."

"Thanks, Gina," Adrienne said."I love it." She put the polish in her bag and checked her watch. She had just enough time to zip into Valentino, and then pick up Emma.

She groaned. And then I have to hand deliver every one of these stupid invitations. Emma is not going to be happy. And neither will my mom or my teachers.Well, Adrienne vowed, as soon as this tea is over and done with, I'll get back on track with everything.

Even Brian.

The moment Adrienne walked into Valentino, a frantic, but extremely handsome man dashed over to her. "It's not

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ready," he said before Adrienne could say a word. "It has been the day from hell, and I'm sorry, but it's just not ready."

"That's okay," Adrienne said. "Do you want me to come back tomorrow?"

The salesman looked stunned, then relief spread over his smooth, chiseled face. "No, it will just be a few min- utes," he said. "But Mrs. W is always in such a hurry, I expected you to throw a fit."

"I can wait a little," Adrienne said, looking at her watch. "I just need to be out of here in twenty minutes."

He smiled. "That's great," he said. "That, we can do. What's your name again?"

"I'm Adrienne," she said. "I love the store."

"I know," he said."Fabulous, right? I'm Kevyn, by the way."

"It must be great to work here," she said, touching a sable-trimmed evening dress.The fur was so soft.

"Well, usually," he said."But today, Kevyn is tired!" He leaned in close to Adrienne. "There was a Russian in," he whispered.

"Is that bad?" Adrienne asked.

"Oh, nooo, honey," Kevyn said, smiling sweetly and tossing back his long, highlighted hair."Russians are great. They have TONS of money. But this one! Girl, she was working my last couture-selling nerve. She kept saying that she was going to `Bomb Ditch' and that she needed better

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clothes. Now, I don't know where the hell she's going, but I guess she doesn't need fur there."

"Palm Beach," Adrienne said, smiling."She was going to Palm Beach, Florida."

"That makes sense--she was looking at bathing suits! How did you know that?" Kevyn asked.

"The Warners' maid is Russian, and we went to Palm Beach just a few weeks ago," Adrienne said.

"That must have been fun," Kevyn said. "A nice little perk of the job."

Adrienne shook her head. "Not worth it," she said. "Trust me, that family is crazy."

"Trust me, darling, I know," Kevyn said. "Do you know that Cameron had me absolutely ruin a dress last week? It was an incredible beaded sheath, but she wanted to wear these tall boots with it."

"So what did you do?" Adrienne asked.

"She made me cut off the bottom half of the dress," Kevyn said."She said she was going on a date and the boy needed to be able to see her legs." Kevyn sighed. "Ten thousand dollars' worth of hand-beading cut off and thrown away. So depressing." He shook his head sadly.

Adrienne sighed and stared down at the floor.

"Are you okay?" Kevyn asked.

"I guess," she said."It's just that Cameron's date? It was with my ex-boyfriend."

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"No!" Kevyn gasped. "Oh, honey, men stink."

"It's not the man, Kevyn. It's Cameron. She's trouble," Adrienne said. "I just wish I could win him back."

"Be careful what you wish for," Kevyn warned.

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