You'll Never Nanny in This Town Again: The True Adventures of a Hollywood Nanny (29 page)

In the days following our conversation, I did mull over my decision like Michael suggested, turning it over and over in my mind. But the answer always came out the same. My misery was affecting my caregiving, and I was no longer doing a good job in helping to raise healthy, happy, well-adjusted kids.

I braced myself for the inevitable confrontation. I had to stand up to him. I knew there were two choices. If I stayed, I would be depressed, the kids would suffer, but Michael would be happy. If I left, I would have a feeling of freedom, and the kids would find an eager new caregiver and eventually adjust, but Michael would not be happy, to say the least. I suddenly remembered how easily he had intimidated poor Carmen all these years, wearing her down every time she asked to move out of the house. I rehearsed the conversation in my mind, this time coming up with an answer to every objection he would make, creating a script for myself.

A few mornings after our first talk, he came into Brandon’s room when I was pulling a shirt over Brandon’s head.

“Have you reconsidered, Suzy?” he asked politely. “You know that I’ve always loved your work. I really don’t want to see you go.”

The more he talked, the more afraid I became that I’d back down. He never took no for an answer. What made me think he’d take it from me?

He repeated his request for me to stay until after the Aspen trip, or at least until after Judy returned from her vacation at the Golden Door Spa.

No. I had to leave. I had to leave. I didn’t want to stay another two months. I couldn’t wimp out
.

“No. I really do want to give my notice,” I said, hanging my head. “Mr. Ovitz, I’ll stay for four weeks. I’m not happy here, and I don’t think it’s fair to the children to be around them when I feel like this.”

“Oh, Suzy,” he said, rolling his eyes and speaking in the most condescending voice I’d ever heard. “Don’t you think that’s pretty egocentric of you? Brandon is just a baby. He doesn’t know the difference. And Amanda and Josh are too busy to know the difference.”

I didn’t answer.
You can’t hit much lower than that, can you?

But for some reason the words touched something within me, breaking a spell. I looked at Michael and saw a sad shell who in reality had nothing but things. I looked into his eyes as his words flew by me and drifted away. My mind raced.
You say your children are the most important things in the world to you, and I know you believe that with every fiber of your being, but those are empty words. You’re no more connected to them than you are to your wife. All of this is just another picture, like the ones hanging on your walls. A seemingly ideal life, a position of great importance, lots of money and power, a beautiful home, three adorable children, and a wife who would do anything for you. But none of it goes beyond the depth of a single brush stroke. There’s nothing there, only a very thin veneer. Nevertheless, like a talented artist, you’ve made it appear that the scene stretches into infinity
.

When he realized that I wasn’t going to change my mind, his face grew ugly. “Do you ever plan to work as a nanny in this town again?” he said, smirking.

“Um, yes, I think so,” I said, surprised.

“Hmm, we’ll see,” he chortled. With that, he turned in his $4,000 suit and walked down the hall.

“This has really fucked up my week!” he barked to the staircase.

At that moment, as sad and as frightened as I was, as painful as the experience had been, I realized I did have an inner strength. I tried to reassure my shaking body that I had made the right decision. I finished dressing Brandon and took him into my room to play. I didn’t want to go downstairs. I knew Judy was there.

An hour after Michael left, Judy appeared. I handed Brandon a toy train and looked up at her. “Michael just called and he wants you out of the house, immediately.”

I stood up silently and walked toward her numbly.

“He doesn’t want to have to see you when he comes home,” she snapped.

“Um …” My mouth was so dry I couldn’t form any words.

“Was it really that bad living here?” she spat.

I started to answer her, and she cut me off.

“Oh, never mind. You’re going to leave, anyway, so it doesn’t really matter now. I just wish I would have known that you were going to quit before I gave you that Christmas bonus.”

Again with the bonus.

I considered offering to give it back. Instead I pleaded, “Judy, I would still like to continue seeing the kids—”

“No, I don’t think so,” she said, cutting me off. “I don’t think that is a good idea. I think it would be too confusing for the children; it just wouldn’t work.”

With that declaration, she stalked out of my bedroom. My heart sank. I guess I had always known, on some level, that this would be my punishment if I chose to leave. It was what my British colleague lived in fear of, wasn’t it? Maybe that was part of why I had stayed so long.

But that was little consolation, and I was devastated. I walked over to my little Brandon. Would I never see him again? I didn’t know what to do first. Did this mean I should stop taking care of the children and start packing my stuff?

Maybe Cindy could help me settle down and give me advice. I dialed her at CAA to inform her of my sudden eviction.

“Cindy, Judy says I have to move out right now. What do I do? Do I keep taking care of Brandon while I’m packing?”

“No, you don’t. Just start packing.”

“I have several carloads of stuff to take to your house; how am I going to do that all by myself?”

My sister was probably thinking,
To my house? That is all we need, one more permanent resident and all your crap
.

But what she calmly said was, “Can I come help you after work?”

“No, he said I have to be out before he gets home. Can’t you come help me right now?”

“No, I can’t. I’m working.” Great. Now my sister’s strong work ethic, the one I was so proud of when I got her the job, was backfiring on me.

“Can’t you tell them that you have to leave and do those I-9 thingys?”

“No, Suzy, I can’t do that,” she said firmly. “What if Michael was to show up while I was there?”

“All right, fine,” I answered. “I have to get started. I don’t have a key to your apartment, so I guess I’ll just have to pile it all up in the hallway until you get home.”

“Sorry, Suzy, but I have to go. Bob Goldman is walking up.”

I walked downstairs with Brandon in my arms, hoping to God I wouldn’t see Judy. I found Carmen and her boyfriend in the kitchen.

“Can you watch Brandon?” I asked. “I have to get out right now, and he hasn’t had his breakfast this morning.”

“Yes, I know. I heard,” she said. “Here, give me the baby. Don’t worry, I’ll feed him.”

I couldn’t say much without my throat constricting.

“Thank you,” was all I whispered. I hurried back upstairs. How was I going to do this? I had no boxes and a lot of stuff. What if my sister hadn’t lived nearby? Where would I have gone?

It ended up taking me about four hours to fill garbage bags (the cheap kind, not the ones used for the trash compactor, of course) with all my worldly possessions. I packed my Celica to the brim twice for the round-trip to Cindy’s apartment.

Before the last round, I hugged Carmen good-bye. I told her to give Delma my best; sadly, it was her day off. We both cried. “I’m so sorry,” Carmen said. “You know how they are.”

Amanda and Joshua sat at the kitchen table, wolfing down snacks and watching TV. I knelt down next to Amanda. “Honey, I have to go, but
you can call me anytime,” I said in what I hoped was a calm and soothing tone. “I am leaving my sister’s phone number with Delma and Carmen, and whenever you want to talk to me, you can call.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“I’m going to live with my sister,” I answered.

“Why? Why are you leaving?” I was at a loss. What could I tell a four-year-old to help her understand?

“Yeah, I know you’re leaving,” Josh interjected. “My mom told me that my dad’s really mad at you.”

I ignored him. I hugged Amanda for as long as she would let me, and then doubled back to the kitchen to hug Brandon one more time. I then faced Joshua and hugged him, telling him I was sorry I had to leave him. He didn’t hug me back.

In the days following my eviction, after the numbness wore off, I started to worry. I knew that Michael and Judy were angry, and I kept replaying in my mind his threat that I’d never work in this town again. Oh, I was being silly. Would Michael really spend his precious time answering calls from some random Santa Monica stay-at-home mom calling to inquire about his former nanny?

Nevertheless, what if the busiest man in Los Angeles
did
feel motivated to concern himself with my job prospects? I’d heard far too much about how Michael did business. That he always eventually got his way, that he never took no for an answer or forgave a grudge. This could get ugly. My gut said that he wasn’t going to let a little girl from Podunkville say no to him without making sure she experienced the consequences.

But I forged ahead, calling the nanny agency and speaking with the woman who had previously suggested that I was making “too big a deal” of my fear that my employer would be angry with me after I quit. She was thrilled to hear that I was available (“lots of jobs for someone of your caliber!”) and booked me for an interview the very next day.

I discovered that the nanny-hunting parents had made their reputation by writing for
The Golden Girls
. The mom, who was pregnant, recognized my name right away.

“Oh, I’ve already heard about you, Suzy.”

Uh-oh.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, you’re that great nanny,” she said warmly. “You’re the one who diagnosed Michael Ovitz’s youngest son with meningitis.”

Excuse me?

There isn’t much that’s missed in Hollywood. Except for the truth, which would make the story much less interesting.

“Oh that. I didn’t actually diagnose him. In fact—”

“Yes. Michael’s our agent,” she interrupted, beaming at her husband. I could read her thoughts:
This is great. Michael only settles for the best, so this girl must be outstanding
.

Good grief, this wasn’t looking good. Not only were they clients of Michael’s but there was also the ever-so-small matter of the location. These people lived ten doors down from my former residence. I ask you, in the huge metropolis of LA, what were the statistical chances of that?

“Tell us about you,” she continued.

I mumbled something halfheartedly.
Why bother? You’re not going to hire me after Mr. Überagent gets a hold of you
.

I knew Michael would tell them not to hire me, but I couldn’t figure out what possible explanation he could find. Maybe that I quit after I accepted the Christmas bonus check. Of course he could always talk about the time he almost suffered a public humiliation when I tried to wear that hideous NASA jumpsuit. But really, what else was there?

I tried to think positively, and the rest of the interview went well. I could tell they liked me. They gave me a tour of their elegant home, which had been featured in
Architectural Digest
, and then showed me the room I would live in. When they walked me out to my car, both smiling from ear to ear, they said they thought I would fit in perfectly with their family.

As I started my car, I told myself that I had just been paranoid. It apparently hadn’t bothered them at all that I’d worked for Michael. The
more I thought about my previous concern, the more I convinced myself that the king might not even bother to take a call at his office from a couple seeking a reference.

But then the agency called and told me very nonchalantly that the couple had decided to pass on me. As if they were playing Monopoly and decided not to buy Baltic Avenue.

“They’re
passing
on me. I told you!” I reminded her. “They must have talked to Michael.”

“I checked it out, and you’re right about that,” she said calmly. “But I talked with Michael at length today, and I think I managed to work a deal with him.”

Oh, really? What kind of deal? I can tell by your voice he has you running scared, lady
.

“I can send you on any interview I want,” she said, “as long as it isn’t with someone who works in the entertainment industry.” She said this as if it was just a minor detail, as if it didn’t matter at all that the clause to which she’d agreed cut out 90 percent of the population who might have a nanny job available.

The paranoia came crashing back. How far did his influence reach? If I went back to Oregon to start college, was he going to put a bad word in with the dean? Okay, that was probably ridiculous, but I could not believe that intelligent, talented, professional people were so afraid of him that they had to bow down to his every edict.

But they did. Oh, so many of them. I interviewed with a couple who had never worked for or with Michael, but they knew him socially, just like everybody else in town. Despite a great interview that ended with smiles all around, two days later they called and declined.

I knew that a person with my experience was in great demand in Southern California. The majority of Hollywood types wanted a nanny who was intelligent, hardworking, and devoted to children. But the unspoken, politically incorrect reality was that they also wanted someone who was thin and spoke English as a first language. I fit all categories, but it was starting to look like the word from the Ovitzes trumped everything. And it was clear that Michael didn’t mind using his valuable time to sink me. If I wasn’t going to work for him, he didn’t want me working for
anybody
.