You'll Never Nanny in This Town Again: The True Adventures of a Hollywood Nanny (39 page)

I couldn’t be in Hollywood without thinking of Brandon. It had been a good two years since I’d spoken to any of his family, although, thanks
to the Lakers, I’d seen them. I often felt incredibly grateful for that one night so long ago when Michael had given Delma and me his tickets; I then knew where to look during an NBA broadcast. In fact, I still recorded Lakers games in an attempt to catch a glimpse of one of the children attending with their dad. It was the only way for me to see how they’d grown, and many times I spotted Josh and Brandon for a split second. Sometimes I’d get a glimpse of Michael and Judy in the courtside seats. She looked as beautiful as ever.

Not long after arriving back at the DeVito house, I called Delma, hoping she still worked there.

“Hello, Ovitz residence,” said an unfamiliar voice.

“Yes, may I speak with Delma please?” I said. Even now, years later, my voice shook.

“And may I ask who’s calling?”

“Uh, yes, this is Cassandra with Robinson’s department store,” I said, thinking up the quickest white lie I could come up with. “I, uh, have a question regarding her statement.”

“Hold just a moment, please.”

“Hello?” Delma said in her charming accent.

“Hi, Delma, it’s Suzy. The nanny.”

“Soooozy!” she yelled.

“Oh my God, is anyone right there?” I gasped. I didn’t want to get her in trouble. “Who’s standing next to you?”

“It’s okay,” she assured me. “They’re gone to New York.”

“Who answered the phone?” I asked.

“It’s Mrs. Ovitz’s new secretary, who works here at the house. You know how it is.”

“That’s good for you; no more phone messages.” We both laughed. “Anyway, how are you? How’s Carmen? How are the kids? Oh my gosh, how big are they now?”

“Brandon is so big you wouldn’t believe it, and Carmen is fine.”

“Please tell her I said hello and that I miss her.”

“She’s off today but I will when I see her. I can’t wait to tell her I talked to you.”

“Are you still the nanny? Did they ever hire anyone else?”

“No, I’m still the nanny, and I get to wear whatever I want.” She giggled, and I laughed, too.

“Guess what, Suzy!” she said excitedly.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant!”

“No way, you’re kidding!” I screamed. “Really?”

“Yes, I am,” she answered, a touch of pride in her voice.

“Did you get married?”

“No, it’s my boyfriend Juan’s baby.”

“Oh my gosh. How far along are you?”

“Oh, about four months.”

“What are you going to do? Are you going to bring the baby to work?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see,” she said thoughtfully. “Mrs. Ovitz has been very nice to me.

“But you know what?” Her tone shifted now into something slightly confidential. “Mr. Ovitz asked me to come down to the office for the second time in my life—”

“Uh-huh.”

“He asked me if I was happy that I was going to have a baby, and I said, ‘Yes, very happy.’ And he said, ‘Oh, I see. I was wondering if we could do anything to help you out,’ or something like that. And I said, ‘I am happy I am having a baby, Mr. Ovitz.’ He said, ‘Oh right. Of course you are.’ And then he put his arm around me.”

“Maybe he was just trying to help you out, Delma, since he knows you’re not married,” I offered weakly.

“You could be right, but it seemed kind of strange,” she said. “But I guess maybe I was just scared, being in his big office, you know.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that feeling well.”

I always thought that Delma would make a great mother.

“Anyway, I’m so happy for you. I wish I could see the kids.” I couldn’t keep from saying what I knew was never going to happen.

“I know. They’re too old now, though, and you know they’d tell.”

“I know, Delma. I was just wishing.”

“Listen, Suzy, I have to go,” she said. “The kids just got home from school.”

“Okay.” I could hear the kids in the background. Was that Brandon? “Please give the kids a hug from me.”

When I hung up, I started sobbing, and I couldn’t stop for a very long time. I knew that I’d never see any of them ever again.

I went downstairs to try and forget about my phone conversation. I was pleasantly surprised by something really sweet, an old note I saw on the dining room table.

It was the first time that I had ever known celebrities to acknowledge that the lives they lead are very different from the majority of the American public. My suspicion that Maria Shriver was a person of character was confirmed, and I felt hopeful that all high-profile people weren’t as hurried and angry as the ones I had encountered.

Of course, I already knew Danny and Rhea were relaxed and real. They knew that I was going to be with them for only a short while this time, but they still made me feel appreciated. Even though I still worked every minute of the day and never had any “off” time in the evenings, I loved being with them, because they treated me like I mattered. They always invited me to have dinner with them. When they had friends over, they always included me in the adult conversations.

The first stop on our way to Hawaii was San Francisco, where Danny was on a month-long shoot. We tried to do some sightseeing, but nearly everywhere we went, crowds formed around us. It was Santa Fe all over again. Sometimes it made us laugh, like the time we were going to dinner on the Fisherman’s Wharf and a guy with a Bronx accent yelled over
to us, “Hey, Louie! Everybody tells me I look just like you!” I thought “everybody” must be blind, because the guy was about five foot ten and 250 pounds.

Unfortunately, most of the attention we got wasn’t the least bit funny. Mobs of “adoring” fans clamored for autographs. They wanted to take pictures or ask inane questions. Once, on a ferry across San Francisco Bay, a group of kids and their “chaperones” surrounded us, sticking their hands in our faces and insisting on autographs. Rhea said no, that they were on vacation and that she wouldn’t be signing anything. Normally, she was pretty accommodating, but she didn’t like it when fans demanded things of her. In a short while, the crowd grew rowdy. Audrey, Lexie, and Max were frightened, and there was no way off the ferry, so Rhea finally agreed to sign a few autographs. That seemed to calm the horde a bit. What annoyed me most was that the parents didn’t do anything to stop their kids. In fact, they were in on the mayhem, too. At least they didn’t invade the set; the actual filming areas were much calmer than the
Twins
set had been. The police and members of the film crew kept the crowds at bay.

One day, the girls said, “Daddy, can’t we be in the movie?” Then Max chimed in. “I want to be in it, too.” Danny agreed, but then Rhea said, “If Max is in it, then Suzy has to be in it, too.” Rhea asked if that was okay with me. I said sure!

I was bustled off to Hair and Makeup, where I was positive the stylists would transform me into a glamorous starlet. Wrong. They put me in a horrible 70s outfit—brown cords, rust-colored top, and a flower-power headband. They brushed my hair into its least attractive state—straight, parted down the middle, and showcasing my forehead like an eight ball. This would be my film debut? I tried to roll up my sleeves, just a small attempt to look better, but the wardrobe lady came rushing over to me, saying, “No, no, no. Roll those back down. You look too hip; they didn’t do that in the seventies.”

The kids and I were slated for a crowd scene, just four more people in a group watching a puppet show. Not exactly a speaking role. Okay, that’s not quite the truth. We were all supposed to yell, “We want the clown! We want the clown!” But as far as I was concerned, in my 70s getup, I was the clown.

Luckily, our time in front of the camera ended up to be less than an hour, since Max was bored with the whole thing after ten minutes, and I spent the next forty begging him to stand still for just a little bit longer.

After filming in San Francisco, we took off on one of the studio jets. I had forgotten how great it was: no shoving carry-ons into overhead compartments, no squeezing past people to get to your seat, no lines for the bathroom. Bliss.

And then we landed in Hawaii. Better bliss.

When it was time to leave, I headed over to their private house to help Rhea finish packing up the kids. Danny was seated at the huge marble dining room table saying, “Okay. I see. Uh-huh.” And a man from the hotel was standing behind him, waiting for his approval of the bill. When I glanced down at the table, I saw twenty-five pages of
charges. Then I saw the bill for my room. On the front page it said “Page one of eight,” and the total in the bottom right-hand corner was so high that I’m embarrassed to think about it, even today. I saw the words “Movie Rental” and realized that all those movies I’d watched, and half-watched before getting bored, weren’t free at all. How was I supposed to know that they charged for them? They needed a clearer warning on the information channel. I felt like an idiot.

Then I remembered the phone calls to Wes and all those trips to the honor bar. In retrospect, I’m willing to bet those were the priciest Butterfingers on record. I stood there with my bag beside me, feeling sheepish.

I kept expecting Danny to question me about my bill, but he never did. He paid the man and slipped him a big tip, too. Still, I felt guilty. I walked over to the table.

“Danny, I’m sorry about all that. I didn’t realize—”

“All what?” he said. “Don’t worry about it. We’re just glad you came with us.”

At first I was consumed with guilt for all the room charges, but when I think about it now, I can see that the hyper-awareness about finances I had learned in my first nanny job automatically kicked right back in. I would’ve been drawn and quartered at my old gig. But not here. I couldn’t believe how generous the DeVitos were. The charges on the bill, combined with the cost of my room, totaled about one semester’s college tuition, yet Danny didn’t bat an eye. He actually seemed to think I was worth it.

And finally I was beginning to believe I was too.

I had to wait a while for the release of Danny’s movie, but I was really looking forward to it. All this time in Hollywood, and I’d hit the silver screen! Or so I thought. My rust-brown glory must not have impressed the film editor. Apparently I only made it to the tiny frames of film on the cutting room floor. Actually I’d probably been swept up and put into the garbage by now.

I took it as a sign that Hollywood was finally giving me the boot.

Given that all of this took place in the film capital of the world it’s probably not surprising that my story doesn’t end there. Too abrupt, too many loose ends. And so the lights dimmed for one final scene, two years later.

I had just earned my nursing degree. From the moment I started studying, I knew I’d made the right decision. By focusing on labor and delivery, I was still working with families, helping them begin the challenge of becoming parents. And in my new career I could also leave any work problems at the hospital
and
sleep in my own bed—two benefits that were not lost on me. Having my own place to come home to every night was even more important now, because I had just gotten engaged to Wes, and we were planning a wedding for the following spring.

Then I got a call from Whitney, the niece of one of my mom’s friends. Whitney, who had just graduated from NNI, asked if I could help her find a job in LA. As we talked, it became clear that this was a good excuse for me to take a short vacation between college and my first job. I was
sure
I could help Whitney avoid making the same mistakes I did.
(And somehow I did; she ended up as a nanny to Rick Schroder for many years. But that would come a bit later.)

Before we left, I called Rhea and told her I was coming. As always, she was incredibly generous, offering to put us up at her home.

As it turned out, on the day that we arrived, Rhea and the children were planning to attend a charity event, and she invited us along. It was a fund-raiser for the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation. Besides raising money, the purpose of the event was to allow children with AIDS to meet some of their famous heroes.