was that evening, so I would know pretty quickly if I wanted to stay on this career path or not.
Third Interview
This was a family that situational comedies are made from. The parents were pretty normal, in fact, I really liked them. Dad and Mom had a great sense of humor and the kids seemed pretty well behaved. It was the ever present mother-in-law who reminded me of what’s her name on the George Lopez show that was the deal breaker. It wasn’t that I couldn’t deal with her constant stream of insults; I guess I just didn’t really want to have to. Wasn’t there a normal family out there?
After an hour of mental gymnastics, I cordially stood up and thanked them for their time. The mother walked me all the way to my car, shook my hand smiling and said, “You’re not coming back for another interview, are you? It’s okay, I know Esther is a handful.”
“She’s two hands full.” I replied shaking my head. “God love ya. How do you do it?”
“Not easily,” she offered.
“I am sure there is a special place in heaven for you,” I said opening my car door to make my final get away.
“Well, if you reconsider, let Lydia know. You are one of the few we have interviewed that I think can handle Esther.” Obviously defending criminals had given me an interesting skill set.
Lydia and I had a scheduled call to de-brief the interviews. She knew I wasn’t working so she had sent me to job openings that needed someone right away. She had warned me they were tough families, but was hopeful. She laughed as I editorialized the interviews into short horror stories. I shared that I was second-guessing the nanny career.
“Annie,” she said, “I have something a bit outside nannying, but it is still technically ‘domestic help.’ There is a single father with two children who is looking for a personal assistant. I assure you he is very normal. The family has a full-time nanny already; in fact I placed her there three years ago. They also have a cleaning service that comes once a week. You’d be managing the operations of the household, light cooking, help with entertaining, and would take care of the boys—who are also very normal—every Wednesday afternoon and some weekends when he travels. You’re more or less a utility player here. The only catch is…”
“He’s psychotic?”
“No.”
“Sees the future?”
“No.”
“He’s an ex-con; transvestite; recluse?”
“No…oh no.” Lydia snickered. “It’s a live-in position, that’s all. I promise it will be better than what you have already experienced. Trust me,” she said, talking to me for the first time adult to adult.
“I do trust you on that, Lydia. I can’t imagine it being worse. I don’t understand the live-in part though.”
“That’s what he wants. It’s to back up the nanny and to provide a built in house sitter for when he travels.”
“Alright, one more interview.” I considered it might actually work out since home was presently a hotel. I was sure I could handle the job. After all, I managed the operations of a multi-million dollar law firm and our household affairs…well, the ones that Lawrence, the control freak, would allow me to…ah but I digress. One more interview couldn’t hurt.
5
Lydia set up the interview for 5:30 Friday evening. I arrived at the gated home of Emmet Navar with a few minutes to spare. The impersonal security guard waved me through as I looked curiously at the mansion in the distance. The traditional estate was close to the size of my house… well, my old house in Florida. The front lawn was as long as a football field with perfectly manicured shrubs lining the driveway. I should have asked Lydia more questions. Who is this man and what does he do?
Susan, the nanny, greeted me at the front door and welcomed me into the two story entryway. She looked normal. Everything from the woodwork to the décor screamed old money. There was a parlor of sorts on the left and on the right an office occupied by a man on the phone with his back to me. Susan led me down the hall.
Past the first few rooms the house opened up to a grand room with an exquisite black baby grand piano in the center. There were two cordovan leather sofas on the far side of the piano facing each other and an ornate mahogany coffee table between them set on an oriental rug. Beyond the piano and sofas was a staircase straight out of The Sound of Music. To the right of the staircase was a grand dining room with a table large enough to seat about forty people. To the left of the staircase was a rather long hallway leading to another room I couldn’t quite see.
Susan continued the tour to the back of the house. The gourmet kitchen was complete with custom finished stainless steel appliances, two dishwashers, a center island with double sinks, and an antique drop leaf kitchen table that seated six people. Beyond the kitchen was a family room with built-in bookcases, a fireplace, a leather recliner, and two overstuffed fabric couches…no television. We walked through the family room and a small mud room out to the backyard. To the right there was a three car garage attached to the house and off to the left about one hundred feet was another three car detached garage with a breezeway. The rear driveway alone was larger than Jed’s car lot.
The boys were busy playing outside, and so far it seemed Lydia had been telling the truth. This family appeared normal enough; at least at first blush. No signs of sacrificing virgins, demonic children, in-laws from hell, or armed guards with machine guns.
We walked back inside and Susan had me wait in the library. The collection of priceless books would have rivaled Lawrence’s any day. There were first edition volumes of Catcher in the Rye, To Kill a Mockingbird, and The Grapes of Wrath; even original works of Edgar Allen Poe and Charles Dickens. I stood admiring the books when I heard a voice outside the room.
“Annie…Annie…Annie? Annie, is that your name?”
Oh no. That is my name. Lord, I had to get better at my new identity. “Yes…yes…I’m sorry. I was just admiring your books. You have quite a collection.”
“Emmet Navar,” he said, extending his hand to shake mine. “Do you collect books as well, Annie?”
“No, my…ah…father did.” I lied returning his firm handshake. “Not close to the priceless collection you have, but I share his appreciation.”
Emmet and I stood while we talked. He was personable, but very matter of fact. He outlined the details of the job and his expectations. He shared that he is a private person and I would be required to sign a privacy agreement stating I would not share information with the press, sell pictures, write a book, etc. “I hope you don’t find that offensive,” he said. I speculated why he was so anxious about his privacy…was it related to his business or his family? Either way, I appreciated his position and assumed he would extend the same level of privacy to me, which was vital.
“With such a litigious society and privacy increasingly compromised, I completely understand your desire for confidentiality. However, in the spirit of reciprocity, I only need your assurance nothing unlawful or dangerous is happening here.” Damn it…That didn’t sound like it came from a woman that spent her days in a day care center singing Barney songs and wiping runny noses! I had to be more conscientious of my communication style. Emmet looked at me a bit sideways. “Sorry,” I winced. “A little too much Court TV I guess.”
