We Regret to Inform You
On Monday at noon I wait in the school courtyard, having watched Mrs. Butters pat each of her heavily bundled students on the head and send them off to waiting nannies, and still no Grayer.
"Mrs. Butters?" I ask.
"Yes?"
"Was Grayer in school today?"
"No." She grins at me.
"Okay, thanks," I say.
"Sure."
"Great."
"Well, then .. ." She nods her head, indicating this productive exchange is over and toddles1 back into the building, her velvet3 patchwork4 scarf blowing out behind her. I stand for a moment, unsure of what to do. I am just reaching for my cell phone when suddenly I am dealt a stunning5 blow to the back of my leg.
"Hi-yaa!"
I turn to see a small woman reproving a very large boy crouched8 in a menacing karate9 stance. "No, Darwin," she says, "no chopping the people."
"Where's Grayer? I want to play with his toys."
"I'm sorry, can I help you?" I say, rubbing my leg.
She gently pushes the boy's fingers off her face while patiently replying, "I am Sima. This is Darwin. We were supposed to play with Grayer today."
"I want to see his toys. NOW!" her charge screams up at me with both hands in a karate stance.
"It's nice to meet you, Sima. I'm Nanny. I guess Grayer must have stayed home today, but I didn't know he had a play date. Let me just call his mother." I dial the number, but Mrs. X's voice mail picks up and I click off. "Okay, well, let's go home, then!," I say, trying to be cheerful, but unsure of what we'll find once we get there. I help Sima with Darwin's bag and we trek11 through the slush to 721. I take an instant dislike to Darwin, as I have spent all of three minutes with him and am already in a perpetual state of flinching12. Sima, on the other hand, is completely soft, almost graceful13, in her efforts to deflect14 Darwin's chops.
I stick my key in the door and open it slowly, calling, "Hello? I'm here with Darwin and Sima!"
"Oh, my," Sima murmurs15 beside me as we make eye contact. The stench of roses is overwhelming. While Mr. X failed to return from what is becoming the longest business trip on record, he has, in his absence, been sending two dozen long-stemmed roses to 721 Park every morning since Valentine's Day. Mrs. X refuses to have them in her or Grayer's wing, but also can't seem to bring herself to throw them out. More than thirty vases fill the living room, dining room, and kitchen. Consequently, the air-conditioning is on, but that only seems to blow the cloying17 stench from one side of the apartment to the other.
Based on what I've pieced together from the florist18 cards, Mr. X promised to take his wife and child out to Connecticut this past weekend for "family time," making the last two heavenly days the first weekend I've had completely off in the month since Valentine's. "GRAYER! GRAAYYRR!" Darwin bellows19 at the top of his lungs before ripping away from his coat and running in the direction of Grayer's room.
"Please take your coat off and have a seat, I'll just go check with Grayer's mom and let her know that we're home." I put his bag down next to the bench in the front hall and slip my boots off.
"That's okay. I'll just keep my coat on, thank you." Her smile tells me that I don't need to explain the frigid20 temperature or the mortuary flowers. I attempt to weave my way around the vases toward Mrs. X's office, only to find it empty.
I follow the sound of the boys' hyena21 giggles22 to Grayer's room, where his bed is serving as a barricade23 in the war between a pajama-clad Grayer and Darwin. "Hi, Grover."
He's busy bombing Darwin with stuffed animals and looks up only briefly25 to acknowledge me. "Nanny, I'm hungry. I want breakfast now!"
"You mean lunch? Where's your mom?" He dives to avert26 a flying stuffed frog.
"I dunno. And I mean breakfast!" Huh.
I find Connie in Mr. X's office, turning Grayer's fort back into a couch. The room is the messiest I've seen any part of the apartment since I've been here. Small plates with leftover27 pizza crusts line the floor and every Disney video is strewn about, separate from its case. "Hey, Connie. How was your weekend?" I ask. "You're lookin' at it." She gestures to the mess. "I was here all weekend. Mr. X didn't show, and she don't want to be alone with Grayer. She made me come all the way back from the Bronx at eleven Friday night. I had to take my kids over to my sister's.
Wouldn't even pay for a taxi. She didn't say boo to that boy all weekend." She picks up a plate. "Last night I finally just told her I had to go home, but she didn't like it."
"Oh, my God, Connie, I'm so sorry. That sucks. She should've called me-I could at least have done the nights."
"What? And let the likes of you know she can't get her own husband home?"
"Where is she?"
She points me toward the master bedroom. "Her Highness came in an hour ago and went straight to her room."
I knock on the door. "Mrs. X?" I ask tentatively. I push it open and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. She is sitting on the ecru carpet, surrounded by shopping bags, her flannel29 nightgown peeking30 out from under her fur coat. The heavy grosgrain shades are drawn31.
"Could you close the door?" She leans back against the bureau, breathing deeply into a wad of lavender tissue paper pulled from one of the bags. She wipes her nose and looks up at the ceiling. Afraid that anything that I ask will be the wrong question, I wait for her to lead.
She stares off into the darkness and then asks in a flat voice, "How was your weekend, Nanny?"
"Okay-"
"We had a great weekend. It was ... fun. Connecticut was beautiful. We went sledding. You should've seen Grayer and his father. It was adorable. Really, a great weekend."
O-kaaay.
"Nanny, is there any way you could come tomorrow morning and just..." She seems exhausted32. "Maybe help Grayer get off to school. He's just so ... He wanted his pink pants and I didn't have the strength-"
"I SHOT YOU! YOU SHOULD BE DEAD!"
"NO! YOU ARE DEAD! DIE! DIE!"
The boys' voices get louder, as does the sound of stuffed animals being pelted33 down the hall.
"Nanny, take them out. Just. .. take them to the museum or something. I can't... I need to-"
"DIE NOW! I SAID DIE!"
"Absolutely. We can totally take them out. Can I get you any-"
"No. Please, just go." Her voice catches and she grabs more tissue from her bags.
As I gingerly close the door behind me, Grayer jumps out at the far end of the long hall. His eyes go to the door and then to me. He hurls34 his Winnie-the-Pooh at my head with a little too much force.
I take a quick breath. "All right, tough guy, let's get you dressed." I take his hand, leading him and Winnie back to his room.
"You have pajamas35 on, stupidhead," Darwin offers supportively as I hustle36 Grayer toward the closet.
In addition to putting on his current uniform of choice, the Collegiate sweatsuit he's been wearing almost daily since Christmas, he pulls one of his father's ties off a hook and loops it around his neck.
"No, Grove24, you can't wear that," I say. Darwin tries to grab it out of his hands. "No, Darwin, that's Grayer's tie."
"See? See?" Grayer says victoriously37. "You said it. It's mine. My tie. Mom said. She gave it to me." Not wanting to go back in her room to get the real story, I fix a quick knot, letting the tie dangle38 low beside his business card.
"All right, fellas, shake a leg. We got places to be, things to do! I have a very exciting afternoon planned, but the first one with his coat on will be the first to find out about it!" The boys scramble39 past me to tackle the floral obstacle course. I grab an armful of the stuffed toys off the floor and toss them back onto the bed on my way out.
In the front hall Sima is attempting to keep Darwin from smothering40 Grayer, who is flattened41 against the door. "He must breathe, Darwin."
"So, I was thinking, maybe Play Space?" I announce, realizing I still have my coat on as Darwin releases Grayer.
"YEAH!" The boys jump up and down on top of each other.
"Okay." Sima nods. "Play Space sounds very good." I hand her Darwin's jacket and pull on my boots.
While there are two Play Spaces, one on East Eighty-fifth and one on Broadway in the Nineties, we head up to the one on the East Side, as it has marginally cleaner sand. These indoor playgrounds are Manhattan's version of a fully42 equipped basement rec room. And, like everything else in the big city, it's for rent. So, similar to motels with hourly rates, a twenty gets you and your charge a good two hours to exhaust each other on their equipment.
Sima stands on the sidewalk with the boys while I get the strollers out of the trunk of the cab.
"IS NOT!"
"IS TOO!"
"Can I help you?" she asks, evading43 Darwin's kick.
"No," I grunt44. "That's okay." I'm just grateful to be out of his reach.
I maneuver45 the strollers to the sidewalk and we each grab a small hand. Probably to deter46 perverts47 from window-shopping, the Space is up on the second level and can only be reached by climbing an enormous, blue-carpeted staircase of child-size stairs that seems to stretch all the way up to wherever nannies go when they die. Grayer, undaunted, grabs the child-height railing and starts hauling himself up.
"Darwin, go up. Go up," Sima instructs. "Not down. Up." Darwin, completely disregarding her, plays some sort of leapfrog game that threatens to throw the methodical Grayer backward into a neck-breaking fall. I follow closely behind, dragging the collapsed48 strollers, my heels hanging off the edge of each stair.
When we eventually get to the top I park the strollers in the Stroller Corral and prepare to check in. Because of the inclement49 weather the place is packed and we get on a long line of overbundled children, exasperated50 nannies, and the occasional mother putting in her hour of quality time.
"Elizabeth, we can make wee-wee after we check in. Please just hold it!"
"Hello and welcome to Play Space! Who's checking in?" an overenthusiastic man in his mid-thirties asks from behind the bright red counter.
"He is!" I say, pointing down at Grayer. The man looks confused. "We are," I say, passing him Mrs. X's membership card. He looks her up in the files and once I hand over twenty dollars we each get name tags for ourselves and one to put on the stroller in case it wants to make friends.
"Hello, my name is Grayer. I'm with Nanny," his reads.
"Hello, my name is Nanny. I'm with Grayer," mine reads. We are instructed to wear them prominently and I plaster mine directly over my left ventricle, while Grayer prefers to stick his on the edge of his shirt, just above the dangling51 card and next to his father's tie. After Sima and Darwin are similarly linked, the four of us go and put our coats in our designated cubbies, along with our boots. In the food area I fork over another twenty for our lunch-two small peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and two juice boxes.
"DIE! DIE!"
"KILL HIM IN HIS BLOODY52 HEAD!"
"All right, enough already!" The Wicked Witch has a headache. "If you two can't eat lunch like nice, peace-loving young gentlemen, Darwin and Sima will have to sit at another table." They manage to argue in dulcet53 tones for the remainder of the meal while Sima and I exchange wan10 smiles across the table. She picks at her bologna sandwich and I make a few attempts to begin a conversation, but Darwin chooses these opportune54 moments to fling Goldfish in her face.
Before we can release them into the pen we go wash hands. The Technicolor bathrooms all have little sinks, low toilets, and high latches55. Grayer pees like a champ and then lets me push up his sleeves so he can wash his hands.
"NO! I DON'T WANT TO! YOU DO IT! YOU PEE!" We can hear Darwin in the next bathroom.
I lean over and kiss Grayer on the top of his head. "Okay, G, let's hit the slopes," I say, as I pass him a paper towel so he can dry his hands and whatever else got sprayed by the sink.
"Daddy says that in Aspirin56."
"Does he. Come on." I throw out the towel and extend my hand, but he doesn't move.
"When's my daddy taking me to Aspirin?" he asks.
"Oh, Grove ..." I crouch7 down. "I don't know, I'm, not sure if you are going skiing this year." He continues to look at me questioningly. "Have you asked your mom?"
He angles his body away from me, crossing his arms over the tie. "My mom says not to talk about him, so don't. Don't talk about him."
"Grayer, come on!" Darwin yells, kicking the door at its base.
"Hey! People have to pee out here!" A woman starts pounding above him.
"Grover, if you have questions, it's always okay to-" I say, standing57 and unlatching the door.
"Don't talk to me," he says, running past me to join Darwin by the gate.
"You have some nerve!" The woman who's been waiting hustles58 her child past me to the toilet. "I think it's unconscionable to keep a little girl waiting that long!" She narrows her heavily made-up eyes at me. "Who do you work for?" I take in her shellacked hair, her inch-long fingernails, her Versace blouse. "I mean it, who do you work for?"
"God," I mutter, pushing past her to let Grayer into the pen.
Sima and I lift the boys onto the bright blue slide. I look over at her to gauge59 if she's one of those caregivers who feel compelled to stay within two feet of their charges at all times, tagging along on every move.
"I think they should ..." she says, pausing, clearly trying to read me, as well.
I nod, waiting for the sign.
"... be okay if they are together? What do you think?"
"I agree," I say with relief, given Grayer's mood and Darwin's aggression60. "Can I treat you to dessert?"
Once we've settled at a table in full view of the slide, I pass Sima a cupcake and a napkin. "I'm glad you don't mind letting the boys play. I usually try to set Grayer free and then come up here where I can keep an eye on him and do my homework. But there's always some nosy61 caregiver who's, like, 'Um, Grayer's in the ... sandbox.' And I'm supposed to fly across the room with a cry of 'Not... THE SANDBOX!' " I laugh, covering my mouth to keep crumbs62 from falling out.
Sima giggles. "Yesterday, at a play date, the mother wanted me to color with Darwin, but if I put my crayon on his drawing, he screams. But she made me sit there all afternoon, holding the crayon near the paper." She unwraps her cupcake. "Have you been with Grayer for very long?"
"Seven months-since September. How about you?" I ask in return.
"Two years now I have been with Mr. and Mrs. Zuckerman." She nods her head and her dark hair falls in front of her face. I'm guessing that she's in her early forties. "We used to play with the other girl, she was very nice. What was her name?" She smiles and takes a sip63 from her miniature carton of milk.
"Caitlin. Yeah, I think she went back to Australia."
"She had a sister there who was very sick. In the hospital. She was saving up to visit her last time we had a play date."
"That's terrible, I had no idea. She was wonderful, Grayer still really misses her-" Out of the corner of my eye I see Darwin, poised64 on the yellow plastic step above Grayer, pulling Mr. X's tie taut65 around G's neck. For a brief moment Grayer's choking-his face turning red as he reaches up his hands to clutch at his throat.
Then the knot of the tie gives way in one swift tug66. Darwin rips it from around Grayer's red neck and runs, laughing, to the other side of the room, disappearing into the climbing apparatus67. Sima and I leap up, dispatching ourselves to the opposing fronts.
"Grove, it's okay," I call out as I approach.
He gives forth68 a blast of rage toward Darwin that silences the entire room. "GIVE THAT BACK!! THAT'S MY DADDY'S!! GIVE IT BACK!!!!!!!" He starts to sob69 and shake. "MY DADDY'S SO MAD AT YOU!! HE'S SO MAD!!!!"
He collapses70, shaking with the force of his tears. "My daddy's so mad, he's so mad."
I pull him onto my lap and start murmuring in his ear as I rock him. "You are such a good boy. Nobody is mad at you. Your daddy's not mad at you. Your mommy's not mad at you. We all love you so much, Grove."
I carry him up to the food area, where Sima is waiting with the tie.
"I... want," he gasps71, his breath coming in gulps72, "my.. . mommy." I knot the tie gently around his neck and help him up onto one of the green benches next to me, making a pillow for him with my sweater.
"Sih-muh? Are you Sih-muh?" the woman from the bathroom asks.
"Yes?"
"Your Darwin is on the slide by himself," she announces.
"Thank you." Sima smiles graciously.
"By him-self," the mother says again, as if Sima is deaf.
"Okay, thank you." Sima rolls her eyes at me, but goes over to make sure Darwin doesn't somehow hurt himself on the three-foot slide, while I rub Grayer's back as he falls asleep.
I watch as she reaches out a hand to help Darwin place his legs over the top in preparation for his descent. He rejects her offer by smacking73 her squarely on the head, then laughs and flies down the slide. She stands for a moment with both hands on her head and then walks slowly back to our table and sits down.
"Darwin seems a little intense," I say. Actually, he seems like a potential homicidal maniac74, but she must have stayed for a reason and ten dollars an hour isn't enough to subject oneself to gross bodily harm.
"Oh, no. He's just having a lot of anger because he has a new baby brother at home." She reaches up to rub her head.
"Have you ever talked to them about how he hits you?" I ask tentatively.
"No. Well, they are so busy with the new baby. And he can be a very good boy." She takes little breaths as she speaks. This is hardly the first time I've seen this; every playground has at least one nanny getting the shit kicked out of her by an angry child. Clearly she doesn't want to talk about it, so I change the topic.
"You have such a beautiful accent." I fold up the wrapper from my cupcake into a little square.
"I moved here from San Salvador two years ago." She wipes her hands with a napkin.
"Do you still have family there?" I ask.
"Well, my husband and sons are there." She blinks a couple of times and looks down.
"Oh," I say.
"Yes, we all came together, to find work. I was an engineer in San Salvador. But there were no more jobs and we hoped to make money here. Then my husband was rejected for the green card and had to go back with our sons, because I could not work and take care of them."
"How often do you see them?" I ask as Grayer shifts fitfully in his sleep.
"I try to go home for two weeks at Christmastime, but this year Mr. and Mrs. Zuckerman needed me to go to France." She folds and unfolds Darwin's sweater.
"Do you have pictures of your children? I bet they're beautiful." I am not sure what the positive spin is on this situation or where to take this conversation. I know if my mom were here she would have already rolled Sima up in the Story Time rug and smuggled75 her to the first safe house she could find.
"No, I don't keep a picture on me. It's too ... hard . . ." She smiles. "Someday when Grayer comes to play at Darwin's house, I will show you then. What about you? Do you have children?"
"No. Me? No, thank God." We both laugh.
"A boyfriend, then?"
"I'm working on that," and I begin to tell her about H. H. We share slices of our own stories, the parts of our lives the Zuckermans and the Xes neither partake in nor know about, amid all the bright lights and colors, surrounded by a cacophony76 of screaming. It starts to snow outside the big windows and I tuck my stocking feet beneath me while she rests her chin on her outstretched arm. Thus I while away the afternoon with a woman who has a higher degree than I will ever receive, in a subject I can't get a passing grade in, and who has been home less than one month in the last twenty-four.
For the past week I've been arriving at seven to dress Grayer for school, before dropping him off with Mrs. Butters and running madly down to class. Mrs. X never emerges from her room in the mornings and is out every afternoon, so I was surprised when Connie told me she was waiting for me in her office.
"Mrs. X?" I knock on the door.
"Come in." I push the door open with slight trepidation77, but find her seated at the desk, fully dressed in a cashmere cardigan and slacks. Despite her best efforts with cream blush, she still looks drawn.
"What are you doing home so early?" she asks.
"Grayer had a run-in with some green paint so I brought him home to change before ice skating-" The phone rings and she motions for me to stay.
"Hello?. . . Oh, hi, Joyce ... No, the letters haven't come yet... I don't know, slow zip code, I guess . .." Her voice still sounds hollow. "All the schools she applied78 to? Really? That's fabulous79 ... Well, which one are you going to choose?.. . Well, I don't know as much about the girls' schools... I'm sure you'll make the right decision ... Excellent. Bye."
She turns back to me. "Her daughter got into every school she applied to. I don't get it, she isn't even cute . . . What were you saying?"
"The paint-don't worry, he wasn't wearing the Collegiate sweatshirt when it happened. He made a really beautiful tree picture-"
"Doesn't he have a change of clothes at school?"
"Yeah, I'm sorry-he used them last week when Giselle dumped glue on him and I forgot to replace it."
"What if he hadn't had time to change?"
"I'm sorry. I'll bring it tomorrow." I start to leave.
"Oh, Nanny?" I stick my head back in. "While I've got you, I need to have a talk with you about Grayer's applications. Where is he?"
"He's watching Connie dust." Your chair-rail moldings. With a toothbrush.
"Good, have a seat." She gestures to one of the upholstered wing chairs across from her desk. "Nanny, I have something terrible to tell you." She casts her eyes down to her hands twisting in her lap.
I can't breathe. I brace80 myself for panties.
"We got some very bad news this morning," she says slowly, struggling to get the words out. "Grayer got rejected from Collegiate."
"No." I quickly wipe the look of relief off my face. "I don't believe it."
"I know-it's just awful. And, to make matters even worse, he's been wait-listed at St. David's and St. Bernard's. Wait-listed." She shakes her head. "So now our fingers are crossed for Trinity, but if, for some reason, that too doesn't work out, then we're just going to be left with his safeties and I'm not enthusiastic about the college placements at those schools."
"But he's adorable. He's smart and articulate. He's funny. He shares well. I just don't get it." I mean, lose the tie, what's not to love about this kid?
"I've been going over everything all morning, just trying to make sense of it." She looks out the window. "Our application coach told us he was a shoo-in for Collegiate."
"My father did say this was the most competitive year they've ever had. They were inundated81 with qualified82 applicants83 and probably had to make some really tough choices." Keeping in mind that the applicants are four and you can't exactly ask them if they have any thoughts on the federal deficit84 or where they see themselves in five years.
"I thought your father liked Grayer when he met him," she asks pointedly85, referring to the rainy afternoon I took him over to my house to pet Sophie.
"He did. They sang 'Rainbow Connection' together."
"Hmmm. Interesting."
"What?"
"No, nothing. Just interesting, that's all."
"My dad's not really involved at all with the admissions process."
"Right. Well, I wanted to talk to you because I'm concerned that dressing86 him in that Collegiate sweatshirt may have set Grayer's expectations in a certain direction and I want to ensure that-" She's interrupted by the phone. "Hold on." She answers it. "Hello? Oh, hi, Sally .. . No, our letters haven't come yet... Oh, Collegiate. Congratulations, that's excellent... Well, Ryan's a very special little boy . . . Yes, that would be great. I know Grayer would love to go to school with Ryan ... Yes, dinner would be lovely . .. Oh, the four of us? I'll have to check my husband's schedule. Let's talk after the weekend... Great. Bye!" She takes a deep breath and clenches87 her jaw88. "Where was I?"
"Grayer's expectations?"
"Oh, yes. I'm concerned that your encouragement of his fixation on Collegiate may have set him up for a potentially deleterious self-esteem adjustment."
"I..."
"No, please don't feel bad. It's really my fault for allowing you to do it. I should have been more on top of you." She sighs and shakes her head. "But I spoke89 to my pediatrician this morning and he suggested a Long-term Development Consultant90 who specializes in coaching parents and caregivers through this transition. She'll be coming by tomorrow while Grayer's in piano and she's asked to speak with you separately to assess your role in his development."
"Great. That sounds like a good idea." I go through the doorway91. "Urn6." I stick my head back in. "Should I not let him wear it today?"
"What?" She reaches for her coffee.
"The sweatshirt."
"Oh. Well, he can wear it today and then we'll let the consultant tell us how to handle this situation tomorrow."
"Okay, great." I go back out to where Grayer, seated in the banquette, is watching Connie polish the stove, while absentmindedly playing with the tie around his neck, and wonder if perhaps we're not focusing on the wrong piece of apparel.
I sit in the chair next to Mrs. X's desk, waiting for the consultant, and surreptitiously try to read, upside down, the notes scrawled92 on Mrs. X's notepad. Even though it's probably nothing more than a glorified93 grocery list, the fact that I have been left alone in here makes me feel as if I should be covert94. If I had a camera hidden in a button on my sweater I would frantically95 try to photograph everything on the desk. I'm starting to make myself laugh at the idea of it when the woman enters, briefcase96 first.
"Nanny." She reaches out to firmly shake my hand. "I'm Jane. Jane Gould. How are you today?" She speaks just a little too loudly, eyeing me over her glasses as she puts her briefcase down on Mrs. X's desk.
"Fine, thanks. How are you?" I am suddenly very cheerful and also a little too loud.
"Just fine. Thank you for asking." She crosses her arms over her cranberry97-colored blazer and nods rhythmically98 at me. She has very big lips made up in the exact same cranberry, bleeding into the lines around her mouth.
I nod back at her.
She looks down at her watch. "So, Nanny. I'm just going to get my pad out here and we'll get started." She proceeds to mention each action as she does it until she's seated in Mrs. X's chair, pen poised.
"Nanny, our objective over the course of the next forty-five minutes is to assess Grayer's perceptions and expectations. I would like you to share with me the understanding you currently hold of your role and responsibilities surrounding Grayer's critical path with regard to the next stratum99 of his schooling100."
"Okay," I say, replaying her statement in my head to locate the question.
"Nanny, in your first quarter at the X residence, how would you characterize your performance in relation to Grayer's academic activity?"
"Good. I mean, I was picking him up from school. But, honestly, there wasn't a lot of academic activity to-"
"I see, so you do not consider yourself an active, dynamic participant in his process. How would you describe your agenda during his scheduled playtime?"
"Right... Grayer really likes to play trains. Oh, and dress up. So I try to do activities that he enjoys. I wasn't aware that he had an agenda for playtime."
"Do you engage him in puzzles?"
"He doesn't like puzzles so much."
"Math problems?"
"He's a little young-"
"When was the last time you practiced circles?"
"I'm sure sometime in the last week we had the crayons out-"
"Do you play the Suzuki tapes?"
"Only when he takes a bath."
"Have you been reading to him from the Wall Street Journal?"
"Well, actually-"
"Not really-"
"The Financial Times?"
"Should I be?"
She sighs heavily and scribbles102 furiously on her pad. She begins again. "How many bilingual meals are you serving him a week?"
"We speak French on Tuesday night, but I usually serve veggieburgers."
"And you are attending the Guggenheim on what basis?"
"We go to the Museum of Natural History-he loves the rocks."
"What methodology are you following to dress him?"
"He picks out his clothes or Mrs. X does. As long as he'll be comfortable-"
"You don't utilize103 an Apparel Chart, then?"
"Not really-"
"And I suppose you are not documenting his choices with him on a Closet Diagram."
"Yeah, no."
"Nor are you having him translate his color and sizes into the Latin."
"Maybe later this year." She looks back at me and nods for a while. I shift in my seat and smile. She leans across the desk and takes off her glasses.
"Nanny, I'm going to have to raise a flag here."
"Okay." I lean in to meet her.
"I have to question whether you're leveraging104 your assets to escalate105 Grayer's performance." Having let the cat out of the bag, she leans back and rests her hands in her lap. I sense that I should feel insulted. 'Leverage106 my assets?' Umm, anyone?
"I'm sorry to hear that," I say earnestly, as the one thing abundantly clear is that I should be feeling sorry.
"Nanny, I understand you are getting your degree in arts-in-edu-cation so, frankly107, I'm surprised by the lack of depth surrounding your knowledge base here." Okay, now I know I'm insulted.
"Well, Jane." She straightens at the sound of her name. "I am trained to work with children who have far fewer resources at their disposal than Grayer."
"I see, so you don't perceive this opportunity to be in an arena108 in which you are a value-add." What?
"I want to add value to Grayer, but he's really stressed out right now-"
She looks skeptically at me. "Stressed?"
"Yes, he's stressed. And I feel-and I am only an undergrad here, Jane, so I'm sure you'll take this with a grain of salt-the best thing I can give him is some downtime so that his imagination can grow without being forced in one direction or another." Blood rushes to my face and I know I've gone too far, but being made to feel like an idiot by yet another middle-aged109 woman in this office is just a bit more than I can handle.
She scribbles a few more notes and smiles evenly at me. "Well, Nanny, I advise you to integrate time for reflection as you continue to work with Grayer. Here are a series of Best Practices from other caregivers that I suggest you review and internalize. This is explicit110 knowledge, Nanny, explicit knowledge from your peers that must become tacit for you if Grayer is to reach his optimal111 state." She hands me a bunch of papers with a big clip at the top and stands, sliding her glasses back on.
I stand up, too, feeling I need, somehow, to clean this up. "I didn't mean to seem defensive113. I care very deeply for Grayer and follow all of Mrs. X's instructions. The past few months he's insisted on the Collegiate sweatsuit almost every day. And Mrs, X even got him a few more so he would have one to wear when the others were in the wash. So I just want to be sure that you know I-"
She puts out her hand for me to shake. "Right. Thank you for your time this afternoon, Nanny."
I shake her hand. "Yes, thank you. I'll read these through tonight. I'm sure they'll be very helpful."
"Come on, Grove, finish up so we can go play a game." Grayer has been pushing around his last tortellini for about five minutes. Thanks to Jane, it's already been a long afternoon for both of us. I look down at him, resting his blond head on his arm and staring horizontally at the last of his dinner. "Whatsa matter? Not hungry?"
"No." I reach for his plate. "No!" He grabs the edge, causing his fork to drop to the table.
"Okay, Grayer, just say 'Nanny, I'm not finished.' I can wait." I sit back down.
"Nanny!" Mrs. X comes bustling114 in. "Nanny." She's about to speak when she sees Grayer and the lone28 tortellini. "Did you have a good dinner, Grayer?"
"Yes," he says into his arm.
But she's already focused her attention back to me. "Could you
come out here for a minute?" I follow her into the dining room where she turns and stops so abruptly115 I accidentally step on her foot.
"I'm sorry, are you okay?"
She grimaces116. "I'm fine. I just finished with Jane and it's paramount117 that we have a family meeting, to break the news to Grayer together about the r-e-j-e-c-t-i-o-n. So I'll need you to call Mr. X's office and find out when he could be scheduled to attend. The number's in the pantry-"
"Mrs. X?" Jane calls as she comes into the hall.
"Sure. No problem. Right away." I quickly slip back into the kitchen. Grayer is still making slow circles with his fork, the tortellini in orbit. I hover118 over him for a moment while listening to Jane and Mrs. X in the hallway.
"Yes, I've just spoken with Nanny. I'm going to see how soon my husband can come home for this meeting," Mrs. X says, waxing professional.
"His presence is really unnecessary as long as Grayer perceives his primary caregiver to be present. You should just go ahead and speak with him yourself." Jane's voice moves toward the front door and I head for the phone.
"Mr. X's office, Justine speaking. How may I help you?"
"Justine? Hi, it's Nanny."
"Hi. How are you?" she asks over the din2 of a printer.
"Hanging in there. How about you?"
"Busy," she sighs. "The merger119 is making things crazy around here. I haven't been home before midnight in two weeks."
"That sucks."
"Well, hopefully Mr. X'll get a huge retention120 bonus and spread a little of it around." Don't count on it. "So, is Mrs. X liking121 the flowers?"
"What?"
"The roses-I thought it was overkill, but Mr. X just told me to put in a standing order."
"Yeah, it kind of feels like a standing order," I confirm.
"I'll make sure tomorrow's bouquet122 has more variety. What's her favorite flower?"
"She likes peonies," I whisper as Mrs. X breezes past Grayer to stand in front of me, expectantly.
"Where am I going to find peonies in March?" Justine sighs again as the printer makes a clacking sound. "Ugh, I can't believe this thing is broken again. Sorry, never mind, I'll do it. Anything else?"
"Oh, right. Mrs. X wants to schedule a family meeting about..."-I glance over her shoulder at the pasta pusher-"the little one. When could he be here?"
"Let's see ... I could push a meeting up ..." I can hear her flipping123 pages. "Tuh, tah, tah . .. Yeah, I can get him back to New York by Wednesday at four. I'll have him there."
"Great. Thanks, Justine."
"Anytime."
I hang up the phone and turn to her. "Justine said that he can be here Wednesday at four."
"Well, if that's really the soonest he can make it... I guess that will have to do." She glances down to adjust her sparkling engagement ring. "Jane said it was crucial that he be here, so . . ."
Right.
"I mean, the Wall Street Journal! He's four!"
"Jesus," my dad exclaims just as Sophie pushes her nose between our legs. "Your mom still wants you out of there."
"I can handle it." I jog forward a few steps and Sophie circles, ready for her next run. "And there's no way I could leave Grayer right now."
Dad runs to the bottom of the hill. "Sophie! Come on!" Sophie looks confused. "Over here!" he calls. Sophie turns 180 degrees from my heels and takes off in his direction against a cold gust124 of wind that blows her ears even farther back. As soon as she reaches him, running just below his gloved hands, I call to her and she gallops125 back up toward me, and then the two of us run down the slope until we are beside him on the main promenade126 that runs along the uptown stretch of Riverside Park.
"Ready for your interview tomorrow?" Sophie rolls into his shins in an effort to catch up.
"I'm kind of nervous, but Professor Clarkson's been practicing with us in class. I'd really like to have my job for next year lined up soon." I hunch127 my shoulders against another gust of cold wind.
"You'll knock 'em dead. Go long!" I run back up the hill toward the edge of the trees and look back down just as the streetlight turns on, making it appear darker around us.
I look up into the yellow glow, composing a wish along the lines of "star light, star bright." "Oh, electric gods of the tristate area, I'm just wishing for a real, honest-to-goodness job with set hours and an office where the boss's underwear isn't drying in the bathroom. Someday I'd like to be able to help more than one child at a time- children who don't come accessorized with their own consultants128. Thank you. Amen."
The subway car is suddenly flooded with sunlight as we surface high over the streets of the South Bronx. I feel that twinge of excitement I always do when a train car moves aboveground, flying over the city on its skinny rails like an amusement-park ride.
I pull my lesson plan out of my backpack and stare at it for the millionth time. The opportunity to join a conflict-resolution team for city schools is exactly the kind of job I've been training for. Plus, it would be good to work with teenagers and take a break from the tiny folk.
The train pulls to a stop and I step out into the cold sunshine. I make my way down the steps of the platform to the street and discover that I am not four blocks away from my interview, but fourteen. I must have misunderstood the woman on the phone. I check my watch, picking up the pace. I was too nervous this morning to have breakfast, but the ninety-minute trek has revived my appetite. I walk/run down the long streets, knowing I should eat or risk passing out mid-lesson.
Fully out of breath, I run into a tiny newspaper stand, grab a bag of peanuts, and stuff them in my backpack. One door down I ring the buzzer129 next to a taped piece of hand-colored paper that reads "Communities Against Conflict."
A voice blares unintelligibly130 out through the static and the door clicks, letting me into a stairwell, once painted green, and lined with posters of children in playgrounds looking gravely into the camera. I examine each print as I climb the stairs and, judging by the haircuts and bell-bottoms, guess these are promo posters circa the early seventies, around the time that this organization was founded. I buzz again at the top step and am greeted by loud barking, before a large hand pulls the door slightly ajar. "Snowflake, stay! STAY!"
"I'm here for the interview?" I say, looking around for another door, assuming I've mistakenly interrupted a resident in the building. A pale woman's face appears in the crack.
"Yeah, Communities Against Conflict. You're in the right place, come on in, just be careful of Snowflake; he's always trying to free himself."
I shimmy through the small opening she's made in the door and practically come face-to-face with a humongous black shepherd and the rest of an equally large woman in overalls131 and waist-length, graying blond hair. I smile, bending down to pet Snowflake, who is trying to get past her widely planted legs.
"NO!" she screams.
"He's not really a people person. Are you, Snowflake?" She pats the dog gruffly on his head with her free hand, as the other holds a stack of manila folders133. Having adequately warned me, she lets Snowflake check me out while I stay perfectly134 still.
"I'm Reena, the executive director of Communities. You are?" She fixes me with an intense stare. I try to get a read on her, attempting to figure out who she would like me to be.
"Nan. I think I was supposed to meet with Richard." I aim for solid and warm, without a hint of cheerful.
"Nan? I thought your name was Naminia. Shit. RICHARD!" Reena bellows at me and I almost duck. She turns back to her files. "He'll be here in a minute. RICHARD!" she screams again, this time into the filing cabinet.
"Okay! I'll just have a seat." I try to demonstrate that I am someone who can take care of herself, as I sense independence is of value here. I turn around to discover that the two chairs designated to the few feet serving as a waiting area are both piled with overflowing135 boxes of yellowing brochures. I opt112 for standing by the wall and getting out of Reena's way, as this seems to be a Communities value, as well.
A door flies open at the far side of the room and a man with a pasty complexion136, who looks related to Reena and whom I presume to be Richard, emerges. He squints137 at me in his glasses, breathing heavily with the effort of getting around her and the dog to greet me. He is sweating profusely138 and has a wilted139 cigarette stuck behind his ear.
"Naminia!"
"Nan," Reena grunts140 over a file.
"Oh, Nan... I'm Richard, the artistic141 director. Well, I see you've met Reena and Snowflake. Why don't we get right to it! Let's go into the Feelings Room and get you set up." He shakes my hand and exchanges glances with Reena.
I follow him to the Feelings Room, which is about the same size as the office, but without all the desks.
"So have a seat there, Nan." I do, ready to tell my whole, wonderful story. Ready to knock 'em dead.
"Now let me tell you about myself..." Richard begins. He leans back in the plastic folding chair and proceeds to explain about his decades spent in social work, how he met up with Reena at a rally against the superintendent142, their years traveling the globe to gather methodologies for conflict resolution, and the host of "virtually thousands of kids" that he has personally trained to "make the world a better place." He also goes on extensively about his misguided childhood, the "illegitimate" son who doesn't call him anymore, and his recent attempts to quit smoking. I zone in and out, keeping a beaming smile on my face and developing a fixation on the peanuts in my bag.
About an hour later he finally says, "So I see here that you are minoring143 in gender144 studies, what does that mean?"
He scans the resume I faxed in, squinting145 to read the blurred146 print. I follow his gaze to the top of the page to discover that I am "Naminia of 4ish East 90 something Street." Ahh, Naminia.
"Well, I'm in the home stretch of a major in child development and I was very interested in supplementing this work-"
"So you're not a feminist147 bitch, then?" He has a good, hearty148 laugh, taking a Kleenex out of his pocket and wiping down his forehead.
I attempt a weak laugh. "As I was saying, I've been completing my thesis with Professor Clarkson and have been interning149 this semester at an after-school program in Brooklyn-"
"Right. So let's get you up and running! Let me grab Reena and we'll get started with your session." He stands. "REEENA!" Loud barking ensues in the other room.
I pull my lesson plan out of my backpack while Snowflake bursts in, followed by Reena. I walk to the other side of the room and write my notes on the rolling blackboard.
I take a deep breath. "I have prepared a session on peer pressure for fourteen-year-olds in grade nine. As you'll see on the board here I have written these key terms. I would begin by asking the group to work together to construct-"
"Teacher! Teacher!" Richard is waving wildly from the back of the room.
"I'm sorry, are you not ready for me to start?" I ask, unsure of what is happening.
He balls up a piece of paper and throws it at Reena, who starts to mock cry.
"Teacher! Reena said a bad word!" Reena continues to boo-hoo, causing Snowflake to circle her, barking.
"I'm sorry, Richard, it was my understanding that we were just doing an overview150." But they are in their own world, throwing paper at each other and fake crying.
I clear my throat. "Okay, the session you asked me-to prepare was for teenagers, um, but I can modify it for preschoolers." I glance at my notes and frantically try to downscale the plan for a different age group. I turn back to face two huge adults and one huge dog, hiding behind chairs and launching paper.
"Um, excuse me? Excuse me? OKAY, CLASS!" I say loudly, giving sway to my frustration151. They turn back to me.
Reena stands up, breaking character. "How are you feeling right now, Nan?"
"Sorry?" I ask.
Richard gets out his notebook. "How do you feel about us in this moment? What does your gut152 say?" They look at me expectantly.
"Well, I think perhaps I misunderstood the directives-"
"Shit, Nan. Do you have rage in there? Do you hate us? We are just not feeling the love. I want to hear it from you. How is your relationship with your mother?"
"Reena, frankly I'm unclear how this relates to my abilities to-"
Reena puts her hands on her large hips153 and Snowflake circles her heels. "We're a family here. There are no boundaries in the Feelings Room. You've got to come in here with trust and love and just go for it. Here's the thing, Nan. We're really not looking to hire white women right now."
She is so comfortable with this statement that I'm tempted154 to ask how many openings they have for white, feminist bitches. Even more bizarre, why a person of color might have a better time discussing their maternal155 issues with complete strangers. White strangers, nonetheless.
Richard stands, soaked with sweat and coughing a smoker's cough. "We have just gotten way too many resumes from white girls. You don't speak Korean, do you?" I shake my head, speechless.
"Nan, we're trying to model diversity here, to represent an ideal community. SNOWFLAKE, HEEL!" Snowflake wanders back from where he has been sniffing156 around my bag. He passes me with his head down, swallowing the last of my peanuts.
I look at both of their very white faces against the backdrop of bright rainbows painted on the peeling wall behind them. "Well, thank you for the opportunity, you have a very interesting organization here." I quickly gather my things.
They walk me to the door. "Yeah, maybe next semester, we'll be doing some fund-raising work on the East Side. Would you be interested in that?" I picture introducing Reena to Mrs. X at the Met so she can ask her about her rage.
"I'm really looking for fieldwork right now. Thanks, though." I get out the door and go directly to Burger King for an extra large fries and a Coke. Folded into an immobile red seat I sigh deeply, comparing Reena and Richard with Jane and Mrs. X. Somewhere out there must be people who believe in a middle ground between demanding children to "feel their rage" and overprogramming children so everyone can pretend they don't have any. I take a long sip of my soda157. Apparently158, I'm not going to be finding it anytime soon.
"See, if I have two jellybeans and you have one jellybean, together we have three jellybeans!" I hold out the jellybeans to make my point.
"I like the white ones and the ones that taste like banana. How do they do that, Nanny? How do they make it taste like banana?" Grayer lines up the colored candy like railroad tracks on his bedroom carpet.
"I dunno, G. Maybe they mush up a banana and they mush up the jelly and then they mush it all together and cook it in a bean shape?"
"Yeah! A bean shape!" So much for math. "Nanny, try this one!" Yesterday's peony arrangement came with a Grayer-size tin of jellybeans.
"How about the green ones? How do they make those-" We both hear the door slam. Only three hours late, not bad.
"DADDY!!" He runs out of the room and I follow into the hall.
"Hey, sport. Where's your mother?" He pats Grayer on the head while loosening his tie.
"Here I am," she says and we all turn. She is wearing a powder-blue pencil skirt, kitten heels, a cashmere V-neck sweater, eye shadow, mascara, and blush. Va-voom. If this were the first time my husband had been home in three weeks, I'd get dolled up, too. She smiles shakily beneath her rose lipstick159.
"Well, let's get this started," he says, barely glancing at her before heading to the living room where Jane left her charts and diagrams. Grayer and his mother scamper160 in behind Mr. X and I am left behind in the front hall. I take a seat on the bench, resuming my role as lady-in-waiting.
"Darling," Mrs. X begins with a bit too much enthusiasm. "Shall I have Connie get you a drink? Or perhaps some coffee? CONNIE!" I jump about three feet and Connie comes flying out of the kitchen, her hands still wet.
"Jesus, do you have to be so shrill161? No. I just ate," Mr. X says.
Connie stops just short of entering the room. We exchange glances and I make room for her on the bench.
"Oh. Oh, all right. So, Grayer, Mommy and Daddy want to talk to you about where you're going to school next year." Mrs. X attempts a second opening.
"I'm going to Collegiate," Grayer offers, trying to be helpful.
"No, sweetie. Mommy and Daddy have decided162 that you are going to St. Bernard's."
"Burnurd?" he asks. There is a moment of silence. "Can we play trains now? Daddy, I got a new train, it's red."
"So, sweetie. You can't wear the blue sweatshirt anymore, okay?" she says. Connie rolls her eyes at me.
"Why?"
"Because it says Collegiate on it and you're going to St. Bernard's-" Mr. X says with exasperation163.
"But I like it."
"Yes, sweetie. We'll get you a St. Bernard's sweatshirt."
"I like the blue one!"
I lean in and whisper to Connie. "Oh, for the love of God, let him wear it inside out. Who cares?" She throws her hands up.
Mrs. X clears her throat. "Okay, sweetie. We'll talk about this later." Connie disappears back into the kitchen.
"Daddy, come see my trains! I'll show you the new one. It's red and really, really fast!" Grayer flies past me toward his room.
"That was a complete waste of time. He clearly could care less," Mr. X says.
"Well, Jane felt it was important-" she retorts defensively.
"Who the hell is Jane?" he asks. "Look, do you have the slightest idea of what it means to be in the middle of a merger? I don't have time for this-"
"I'm sorry, but-"
"Do I have to be on top of everything?" he growls164. "The one thing I delegated to you was his schooling and now it's all fucked up."
"It was a very competitive year!" she cries. "Grayer doesn't play the violin!"
"What the fuck does the violin have to do with anything?"
"Maybe if you'd spend an hour of your precious time with us he might have done better in his interviews," she spits back.
"My precious time? My precious time? I am bashing my brains out eighty hours a week so you can stand there in your pearls, with your eight-thousand-dollar curtains and your 'charity work,' and question how I spend my time?! Who's going to pay his tuition bills, huh? You?"
"Honey." She softens165. "I know you're under a lot of pressure. Look, since you're already home, why don't we talk about it over a nice relaxing dinner? I made a reservation at that place you love, down by the river." Her kitten heels make little clicks as she walks over to him. Her voice drops. "We could get a room at the Pierre, maybe the one with the double Jacuzzi bath ... I've really missed you."
It's quiet for a minute and then I distinctly hear the sound of them kissing. Their low laughter drifts into the hallway.
I'm just about to sneak166 off to Grayer's room when Mrs. X coos "Should I send a donation to St. Bernard's with the tuition check, so we get off on the right foot with them?"
"The right foot?" He's again indignant. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but haven't they already accepted him-"
"But if we have another boy-"
"Look, I've got to get back to the office. The car's waiting downstairs. I'll call you later." Mr. X swiftly passes me, still wearing the overcoat he presumably never took off. The door slams loudly behind him.
"Daddy? WAIT!!!!" Grayer comes running out with his red train. "DADDY!!!" He throws himself, screaming, against the front door.
Mrs. X walks slowly into the hall and stands for a moment, glaring through Grayer at the front door until her eyes glaze167 over, then walks right past both of us to her bedroom.
"DADDY.I..'" He convulses with sobs168, bending over, while holding tightly onto the doorknob. "I WANT DADDY...!" I sit down on the floor and reach out to hold him. He drops his head between his dangling arms and away from me. "NOOOoooo. I want my DADDY!!!" We hear the elevator door slide closed. "DON'T LEAVE.!!!"
"Ssshhh, I know." I circle my arms to pull him onto my lap. "I know, Grove." We sit on the floor as his tears make a dark, wet spot on the knee of my jeans. I rub his back and murmur16, "It's okay, Grove. Shhh, it's okay to be sad. We'll just sit here and be sad for a little while."
"Okay," he says into my pant leg.
"Okay."
收听单词发音 |
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toddles
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| v.（幼儿等）东倒西歪地走( toddle的第三人称单数 )；蹒跚行走；溜达；散步 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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urn
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| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
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crouch
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| v.蹲伏，蜷缩，低头弯腰；n.蹲伏 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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karate
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| n.空手道(日本的一种徒手武术) | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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trek
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| vi.作长途艰辛的旅行；n.长途艰苦的旅行 | |
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flinching
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的现在分词 ) | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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deflect
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| v.(使)偏斜，(使)偏离，(使)转向 | |
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murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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cloying
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| adj.甜得发腻的 | |
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florist
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| n.花商；种花者 | |
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bellows
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| n.风箱；发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的名词复数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的第三人称单数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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hyena
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| n.土狼，鬣狗 | |
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giggles
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| n.咯咯的笑( giggle的名词复数 )；傻笑；玩笑；the giggles 止不住的格格笑v.咯咯地笑( giggle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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grove
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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leftover
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| n.剩货，残留物，剩饭；adj.残余的 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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peeking
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| v.很快地看( peek的现在分词 )；偷看；窥视；微露出 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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pelted
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| （连续地）投掷( pelt的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续抨击； 攻击； 剥去…的皮 | |
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hurls
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的第三人称单数 )；大声叫骂 | |
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35
pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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36
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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37
victoriously
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| adv.获胜地，胜利地 | |
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38
dangle
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| v.(使)悬荡，(使)悬垂 | |
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39
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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40
smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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41
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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42
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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43
evading
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| 逃避( evade的现在分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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44
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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45
maneuver
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| n.策略[pl.]演习；v.(巧妙)控制；用策略 | |
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46
deter
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| vt.阻止，使不敢，吓住 | |
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47
perverts
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| n.性变态者( pervert的名词复数 )v.滥用( pervert的第三人称单数 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
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48
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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49
inclement
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| adj.严酷的，严厉的，恶劣的 | |
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50
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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51
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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52
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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53
dulcet
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| adj.悦耳的 | |
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54
opportune
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| adj.合适的，适当的 | |
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55
latches
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| n.（门窗的）门闩( latch的名词复数 )；碰锁v.理解( latch的第三人称单数 )；纠缠；用碰锁锁上（门等）；附着（在某物上） | |
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56
aspirin
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| n.阿司匹林 | |
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57
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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58
hustles
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| 忙碌，奔忙( hustle的名词复数 ) | |
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59
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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60
aggression
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| n.进攻，侵略，侵犯，侵害 | |
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61
nosy
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| adj.鼻子大的，好管闲事的，爱追问的；n.大鼻者 | |
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62
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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63
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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64
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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65
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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66
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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67
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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68
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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69
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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70
collapses
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| 折叠( collapse的第三人称单数 )； 倒塌； 崩溃； （尤指工作劳累后）坐下 | |
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71
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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72
gulps
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| n.一大口（尤指液体）( gulp的名词复数 )v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的第三人称单数 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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73
smacking
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| 活泼的，发出响声的，精力充沛的 | |
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74
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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75
smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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76
cacophony
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| n.刺耳的声音 | |
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77
trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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78
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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79
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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80
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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81
inundated
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| v.淹没( inundate的过去式和过去分词 )；（洪水般地）涌来；充满；给予或交予（太多事物）使难以应付 | |
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82
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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83
applicants
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| 申请人，求职人( applicant的名词复数 ) | |
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84
deficit
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| n.亏空，亏损；赤字，逆差 | |
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85
pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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86
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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87
clenches
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的第三人称单数 ) | |
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88
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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89
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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90
consultant
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| n.顾问；会诊医师，专科医生 | |
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91
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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92
scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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94
covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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95
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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96
briefcase
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| n.手提箱，公事皮包 | |
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97
cranberry
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| n.梅果 | |
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98
rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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99
stratum
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| n.地层，社会阶层 | |
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100
schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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101
economist
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| n.经济学家，经济专家，节俭的人 | |
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102
scribbles
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| n.潦草的书写( scribble的名词复数 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下v.潦草的书写( scribble的第三人称单数 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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103
utilize
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| vt.使用，利用 | |
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104
leveraging
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| 促使…改变( leverage的现在分词 )； [美国英语]杠杆式投机，（使）举债经营，（使）利用贷款进行投机 | |
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105
escalate
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| v.(使)逐步增长(或发展)，(使)逐步升级 | |
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106
leverage
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| n.力量，影响；杠杆作用，杠杆的力量 | |
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107
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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108
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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109
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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110
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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111
optimal
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| adj.最适宜的；最理想的；最令人满意的 | |
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112
opt
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| vi.选择，决定做某事 | |
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113
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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114
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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115
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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116
grimaces
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| n.（表蔑视、厌恶等）面部扭曲，鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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117
paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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118
hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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119
merger
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| n.企业合并，并吞 | |
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120
retention
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| n.保留，保持，保持力，记忆力 | |
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121
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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122
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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123
flipping
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| 讨厌之极的 | |
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124
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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125
gallops
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| （马等）奔驰，骑马奔驰( gallop的名词复数 ) | |
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126
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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127
hunch
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| n.预感，直觉 | |
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128
consultants
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| 顾问( consultant的名词复数 )； 高级顾问医生，会诊医生 | |
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129
buzzer
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| n.蜂鸣器；汽笛 | |
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130
unintelligibly
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| 难以理解地 | |
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131
overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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132
jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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133
folders
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| n.文件夹( folder的名词复数 )；纸夹；（某些计算机系统中的）文件夹；页面叠 | |
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134
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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135
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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136
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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137
squints
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| 斜视症( squint的名词复数 )； 瞥 | |
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138
profusely
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| ad.abundantly | |
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139
wilted
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| （使）凋谢，枯萎( wilt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
grunts
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的第三人称单数 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说； 石鲈 | |
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141
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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142
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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143
minoring
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| v.[主美国英语]副修，选修，兼修( minor的现在分词 ) | |
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144
gender
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| n.（生理上的）性，（名词、代词等的）性 | |
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145
squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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146
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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147
feminist
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| adj.主张男女平等的，女权主义的 | |
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148
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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149
interning
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| v.拘留，关押( intern的现在分词 ) | |
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150
overview
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| n.概观，概述 | |
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151
frustration
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| n.挫折，失败，失效，落空 | |
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152
gut
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| n.[pl.]胆量；内脏；adj.本能的；vt.取出内脏 | |
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153
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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154
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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155
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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156
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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157
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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158
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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159
lipstick
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| n.口红，唇膏 | |
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160
scamper
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| v.奔跑，快跑 | |
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161
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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162
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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163
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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164
growls
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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165
softens
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| （使）变软( soften的第三人称单数 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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166
sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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167
glaze
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| v.因疲倦、疲劳等指眼睛变得呆滞，毫无表情 | |
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168
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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