Frosting on the Cake
Connie,
Rather than ironing Grayer's sheets today, I'd like you to pack the following items for Mr. X.
His suits
Shirts
Ties
Underwear
Socks
And anything else he uses. These items should be packed and down with the doorman by three o'clock. Please see that ou only use his luggage (see monogram).
"Nanny, have you seen Grayer's bow tie? I put it out last night." Mrs. X and Grayer are due at the April Tea for New St. Bernard's Families in twenty minutes. Mrs. X is rummaging1 through Grayer's drawers while I try to wrestle2 him into an ultrastarched oxford4, complete with stays in the collar, and Connie, I assume, is somewhere in Mr. X's closet filling his monogrammed luggage.
"I need an elephant," Grayer says, pointing to the sketch5 pad on his diminutive6 table.
"One second, Grayer," I say, "Let me buckle7 your belt-"
"No, not that one." She sticks her head out from Grayer's walk-in closet.
"That's the one you put out." I add, "On the bed. Sorry."
"It doesn't go."
Kneeling down in front of him, I look him over-blue pinstriped shirt, khaki pants, white socks, brown belt. I don't see the problem, but I unbuckle him.
"Here," she says, handing me a green and red striped canvas belt.
I point down at the belt buckle. "See, G for Grayer."
"G?" he asks, looking down. "I need my card." I reach for the bus-pass holder9 on the dresser, which contains the vestiges10 of Mr. X's business card.
"No," she says, emerging from the closet. "Not today. It's like the interviews. Remember the interviews? No card."
"I want my card!"
"You can keep it in your pocket like a secret agent," I say, tucking it out of sight.
"I still can't find his f-ing bow tie."
"Nanny, I need an elephant." I pick up a gray crayon and draw an amorphous11 blob with big ears and a trunk, the extent of my artistic12 expertise13. She starts throwing ties out of the closet.
"I want to wear my tie," he says, referring to the one that hangs to the floor.
"No. Not today." She goes storming out into the entrance hall where I can hear her voice echo off the marble. "CONNIE! CONNIE.'"
"Yes, ma'am?" Grayer is quiet, I keep my crayon in motion.
"I have just spent half an hour looking for Grayer's bow tie. Do you happen to know where it is?"
"No, ma'am."
"Is it too much to ask that you keep track of Grayer's clothes? Do I have to be on top of everything? The one thing I delegate to you-" She sighs heavily and then there's a moment of silence. "Why are you standing14 there? Go look for it!"
"I'm sorry, I just don't know where it could be, ma'am. I put it in his room with the other ones."
"Well, it's not there. And this is the second time that a piece of Grayer's clothing has gone missing this month. Now, if you're feeling that this is all too much responsibility for you, I'm sure we can rethink your role here."
"No, ma'am. I'll look for it. It's just that the clothes, need to be packed by three and it's two-thirty now. If Mr. X needs them-"
"Are you questioning who you work for? You work for me. And I am telling you to look for the tie. And if this confuses you, please let me know. Because, as far as I can recall, I am the one who pays you!"
I stand up shakily and start going through Grayer's closet myself. He comes and stands beside me, leaning his head against my hip15. Connie joins us in Grayer's room, pulling the closet door further open.
"Connie, I'll look here," I say softly. "You take the laundry room."
As she crosses back through the front hall Mrs. X continues. "We could call Mr. X and see which he gives more of a shit about, whether his clothes get packed or whether his son has the right fucking tie to wear to his new school! Maybe he'll talk to you. Maybe he'll take your call, Connie."
"I'm sorry, ma'am." Five minutes of thorough, breathless searching uncovers nothing.
"Anything?" Mrs. X's face appears where she has lifted the dust ruffle16.
"No, sorry," I say from under Grayer's bed.
"Goddammit! Grayer, come on, we have to go. Just put him in the one with the green polka dots." I slide out on my stomach.
"I want my daddy's tie!" He tries to reach for the peg17 where his father's tie hangs.
"No, G. You can wear it later." I gently pull his hand away, trying to motivate him toward the door.
"I want it now!" He starts to sob18, red blotches19 appearing on his face.
"Shh, please, Grove20?" I kiss his damp cheek and he stands still, tears making their way down into the starched3 collar. I straighten the knot and go to take him in my arms, but he pushes me away.
"No!" And he runs out of the room.
"Nanny?" Mrs. X calls, shrilly21.
"Yes?" I walk to the hall.
"We'll be back at four in time for ice skating. Connie?" She shakes her head as Connie emerges from the laundry room, as if she is simply too disgusted and disappointed to speak. "I just don't know what to say. It seems to me we are having these sorts of problems on a regular basis now and I need you to do some serious thinking about your commitment level to this job-"
Mrs. X's cell phone emits a sharp ring.
"Hello?" she answers while motioning for me to help her on with her mink22. "Oh, hi, Justine ... Yes, they'll be down by three ... Yes, you can tell him she's packed everything ..." She walks away from us into the vestibule. "Oh, Justine? Could you see that I get his room number at the Yale Club?... In case Grayer has an emergency and I need to get a hold of him . .. Well, why would I call you? She takes a deep breath. "Well, I'm glad you see that doesn't make any sense ... Frankly23, I don't want your apology. What I want is my husband's phone number ... I refuse to discuss this with you!" She slams her cell phone closed with such force that it drops to the marble floor.
Both women kneel to grab the phone just as the elevator door opens, but Mrs. X gets there first. With a shaking hand she picks it up and drops it into her clutch. She puts her other hand to the floor to steady herself, her icy blue eyes even with Connie's brown ones. "We seem to be unable to communicate, Connie," she hisses24 through clenched25 teeth. "So let me be crystal clear. I want you to gather your things and get out of my house. I want you out of my house. That's what I want."
She stands with a shake of her mink and pushes a stunned26 Grayer into the elevator as the door closes.
Connie pulls herself up by the foyer table and walks past me back into the apartment.
I take a moment to collect myself before slowly shutting the front door.
I walk through the kitchen and find Connie standing with her back to me in the maid's room, her broad shoulders quivering in the small space. "God, Connie. Are you okay?" I ask quietly in the doorway27.
She turns to me-her pain and outrage28 so rawly palpable on her face that I'm struck silent. She slumps29 down on the old tweed fold-out couch and undoes30 the top button of her white uniform.
"I've been here twelve years," she says, shaking her head. "I was here before her and I thought I'd be here after."
"Do you want something to drink?" I ask, stepping into the narrow gap between the couch and the ironing board. "Some juice maybe? I could try to get into the liquor cabinet."
"She wants me to leave? She wants me to leave?" I sit down on Mrs. X's steamer trunk. "I've wanted to leave since the first day she got here," she snorts, reaching for a half-ironed T-shirt and wiping her eyes. "Let me tell you something-when they went to Lyford whatever-I didn't get paid. I never get paid when they go away. Not my fault they're on vacation. I'm not on vacation. I still have three kids and plenty of bills to pay. And this year-this year-she asked him to declare me! They never declare me! Where am I supposed to come up with that kind of money now? I had to borrow money from my mother to pay all these taxes." She sits back and pulls off her apron33. "When Mrs. X and Grayer flew to the Bahamas last year and I was going there too to see my family, she made me fly with them. Grayer spilled juice all over hisself at takeoff and she didn't have a change for him and he's sitting there cold and wet and crying and she just pull on that sleep thing over her eyes and ignore him the whole flight. And I didn't get paid for that! Oh, was I mad-that's why I'm not a nanny. You ever hear about Jackie?" I shake my head. "Jackie was his baby nurse, but she stayed till Grayer was two."
"What happened to her?"
"Well, she got a boyfriend. That's what happened to her." I look at her quizzically. "For two years she just worked, she'd only been here maybe a few years and didn't have too many friends. So she practically lived here and she and Mrs. X got on okay. I think they got together about Mr. X traveling and Jackie dating no one special- you know, man troubles. But then Jackie met someone-he looked like Bob Marley-and now she can't work Friday nights and she don't like to work the weekend if the Xes don't be in Connecticut. So Mrs. X starts in with how inconvenienced she is. But really, she jealous. Jackie had that glow, you know. She had that look about her and Mrs. X couldn't stand it. So she fired her. Nearly broke Grayer's heart. After that-he was like a little devil child."
"Wow." I take a deep breath.
"Oh, you ain't heard the bad part. Jackie called me six months later. She couldn't get a new job because Mrs. X wouldn't give her a reference. You know, no reference, they think Jackie stole or something. So she got two years missing on her resume. And the agency didn't want to send her out no more." She stands up and wipes her hands slowly down her skirt. "That woman is pure evil. They have six nannies in four months before Caitlin-no one stayed. And one got fired for giving him a corn muffin in the park. Don't you never feed him if you want to keep your job, you hear? And Mr. X-keeps porn in his shoe closet, the naaasty kind."
I'm trying to take this all in. "Connie, I'm so sorry."
"Don't you be sorry for me." She tosses the crumpled34 t-shirt onto the couch and marches with purpose into the kitchen. "You just watch out for yourself." I follow her.
She opens one of the empty Delft cookie jars on the counter and pulls out a handful of black lace, slamming it down on the table in front of me.
PANTIES!
"And I found these under the bed-"
"Right under the bed?" I can't help asking.
She tilts35 her head down at me. "Mm-hm. Now he's got the other one running all around here, acting36 like she owns the place. It took me two days to get the stink37 of her perfume out of here before Mrs. X got back."
"Should somebody tell her? Do you think somebody should tell Mrs. X about this woman?" I ask, dizzy with relief at finally being able to consult a colleague.
"Now, you listen here. Ain't you been here for the last hour? It's not my problem. And don't you make it your problem, either. It's none of our business. Now you better pack up Mr. X's things-I gotta get out of here." She reaches around and unties38 her apron, dropping it onto the counter.
"So, what are you gonna do?"
"Oh, my sister, she works up the block, she always knows people who are lookin' for housekeepers39 and whatnot. I'll find something. It'll be less money, if that's possible. But I'll find something. I always do."
She walks into the maid's room to collect her things, leaving me staring down at the black silk thong40, screaming like profane41 graffiti against the peach marble table.
Nanny,
Today you have a play date with Carter after tennis. Please be there by three. The Miltons live at 10 East 67th Street and I think you'll be staying for supper. I'm having dinner at Bolo.
I still can't find Grayer's bow tie. Did you take it home? Please check.
Thanks.
Grayer is still crying when we finally get a cab. While I'm not allowed to walk him down doormanless side streets, his after-school activities routinely maroon42 us in desolate43, cabless neighborhoods where any minute I'll be forced to choose between Grayer or my life. I haul him into the taxi, throw the tennis racket in after him, and pull the rest of the equipment in with me.
"Sixty-seventh and Madison, please." I look at Grove. "How's your head? Any better?"
"It's okay." He slows down to a whimper, but it sounds like a whimper with staying power. He was looking the wrong way when the pro8 turned on the ball feeder.
"How about golf, G? I think we should try golf. Smaller balls, less damage." He looks up at me with wet eyes. "Come here." He leans across the seat and puts his head in my lap. I run my fingers through his hair and play with his ears just like my mom used to do. The motion of the car soothes44 him and before we even reach Mid-town he's asleep. He must be wiped. What a different life we'd all be living if he was only allowed to nap.
I pull back my raincoat sleeve to look at my watch. What will an extra fifteen minutes matter?
"Driver? Can you make a loop up to 110 and then back down the West Side and across the Sixty-eighth Street transverse?"
"Sure, lady. Whatever you say," I look out the window at the gray sky and pull my coat closer around me as round raindrops hit the windshield, still waiting for April showers to feel like they could lead to May flowers.
"Grover, wake up. We're here." He's a little groggy45 and wiping his eyes when I press the town house's doorbell, the racket slung46 over my shoulder.
"Hello?" an English voice says from the intercom.
"Hi! It's Nanny and Grayer." There's no reply. I reach over and press the talk button again. "We have a play date with Carter."
"Really?" There's a pause. "Well, come on up, then." The buzzer47 sounds and I push the heavy glass door open, while Grayer stumbles ahead of me into the marble entrance foyer. Past the grand staircase, at the back of house, is a solarium, whose long windows reveal a garden. Raindrops steadily48 fill the stone fountain.
"Hello?" a young voice asks. I look up from where I'm wrestling Grayer's coat zipper49. A little boy Grayer's age with blond, curly hair is standing on the landing, his hand looped through the banister, leaning away on a diagonal. "Hi. I'm Carter." I've never seen this boy before and realize Grayer hasn't, either.
"I'm Grayer."
"Hello?" The same English voice calls down the stairs. "Just leave your gear anywhere and come on up." I throw our wet coats on the floor and drop our gear beside it.
"Go ahead, G." He runs up after Carter. I begin my ascent50; on the first floor I pass a Venetian living room at the front of the house and a Deco dining room at the back. As I reach the second floor, featuring the Empire master bedroom and a man's study done in the African vein51, lots of antelope52 heads and a zebra-skin rug, I'm audibly panting. I chug up to the third level, which has a large mural of Winnie-the-Pooh painted on the landing, and I'm guessing it is Carter's floor.
"Keep going!" I hear encouragement being shouted from above.
"You're almost there, Nanny! Lazy!"
"Thanks, G!" I call up. I finally drag myself, sweating, to the fourth floor, which has been opened up into a large family room cum kitchen.
"Hi, I'm Lizzie. Stairs a bit much, eh? Want some water?"
"That would be lovely. I'm Nanny." I extend the hand that isn't clutching my abdomen53. She's maybe a few years older than me, wearing a gray flannel54 skirt, sky-blue oxford shirt, and a navy cardigan tied around her shoulders. I recognize her as part of the community of high-class British imports who regard this as a noble profession, requiring training and certification, and they dress accordingly. The boys have already run off to the corner, where a village of plastic Playskool houses are set up, to play what sounds like Sack the Serfs.
"Here." Lizzie hands me the water. "I thought we'd just let them blow off steam for an hour and then plunk them in front of The J-u-n-g-l-e B-o-o-k"
"Sounds great."
"I don't know what I'm going to do when Carter learns how to spell. Learn sign language, I guess."
I stare at the rococo55 kitchen cabinets, the distressed56 French tiles, the egg and dart57 moldings. "This is an amazing house. Do you live in?"
"I have a little flat on the top floor." I look over at the stairs and realize that, yes, there is another floor.
"You must be in amazing shape."
"Try doing it with a knackered four-year-old in your arms."
I laugh. "I've never met Carter before. Where does he go to school?"
"Country Day," she says, taking my empty glass.
"Oh, I used to look after the Gleason girls - they went there. It's a nice place."
"Yeah - Carter, get off him!" I look over just as Grayer is released from a death grip.
"Wow, Carter, how'd you do that? Show me, show me!" Grayer's eyes are alight at the discovery.
"Oh, great," I say. "Now he'll be leaping out to put me in a choke hold."
"A swift kick to the groin and they're down in no time," she says, winking58 at me. Where has she been this whole year? I could have had a playground buddy59. "Hey, you want to see the terrace?"
"Sure." I follow her out to a stone balcony overlooking the garden and the back of the brownstones on the other side of the block. We stand under the awning60 as the rain splatters the tips of our shoes.
"It's beautiful," I say, my breath coming in little puffs61 of vapor62. "It's a real nineteenth-century enclave."
She nods. "Cigarette?" she asks.
"You can smoke?"
"Sure."
"Carter's mom doesn't mind?"
"Please." I take one.
"So, how long have you been working here?" I ask as she strikes the match.
"About a year. It's a little nuts, but compared to the other jobs I've had.... I mean, when you live in, you know." She shakes her head, blowing smoke into the drizzle63. "They run your life while you live in a closet off the kitchen. At least here I've got a great space. Those round windows?" She points with her cigarette. "That's my bedroom and that, there, is my sitting room. And my bath has a Jacuzzi. It was meant to be a guest suite64, but, well, guests are a little out of the question."
"Wow. Not a bad deal."
"Well, it's full-time65 duty."
"Are they nice?"
She starts laughing. "I guess he's not bad-he's never really around, which makes her a bit off her rocker.That's why they needed a live-in-"
"Yoo-hoo! Lizzie! Are you out there?" I freeze, trying not to exhale66, a tiny trail of smoke escaping from my nostrils67.
"Yeah, Mrs. Milton. We're outside." She casually68 stubs out her cigarette on the balustrade and throws it into the garden. I shrug69 and follow suit.
"There you are!" she says as we come back into the kitchen. Mrs. Milton, a Matel blonde, sits on the floor in a peach-silk robe, sniffing70 and delicately wiping her nose, while the boys run around her. "Now, who's this?" Her voice has a slight Southern lilt. "That's Grayer," Lizzie says. "And I'm Nanny." I extend my hand.
"Oh, Grayer! Grayer, I saw your momma at Swifty's. Well, every time we're at Lotte Berk we keep saying we have to get our boys together. And then there she was having lunch and we said, well, we just have to make a plan, and here you are! Grayer!" She picks him up and holds him upside down, in fluffy71 mules72, no less. Grayer seems to be trying to make eye contact with me, clearly uncertain how to respond to this outpouring of affection. She puts him down. "Lizzie! Lizzie, darlin', don't you have a date tonight?"
"Yeah, but-"
"Shouldn't you be getting ready?" "It's only four."
"Nonsense. Go relax. I want to spend some time with my Carter. Besides, Nanny can help me." She hunkers down. "Hey, boys, you wanna make a cake? We have cake mix, right, Lizzie?"
"Always."
"Great!" Her silk robe billows out behind her as she crosses to the kitchen, revealing long, tanned, and very naked legs. I realize as she turns that she is completely au naturel beneath her robe. "Now, let's see ... eggs... milk." She pulls everything out and sets it on the counter. "Lizzie, where are the pans?"
"In the drawer under the oven." She grabs my wrist and whispers, "Don't let her burn herself." Before I have chance to ask if and why this is likely she's run upstairs to her room.
"I like chocolate cake," Grayer says, casting his vote.
"We only have vanilla73, sugar." Mrs. Milton holds up the red box.
"I like vanilla," says Carter.
"At my birthday," Grayer continues, "I had a cake. It looked like a football and it was reallyreally big!"
"Woohoo! Let's have some music." She pushes a button on the Bang & Olufsen stereo above the counter and Donna Summer comes blaring out. "Come on, sugar pie. Come and dance with Momma." Carter shakes his arms and bobs his knees. Grayer starts off slowly with a head wiggle, but by "On the Radio" he lets the jazz hands fly.
"Lookin' good, boys!" She takes a hand of each and the three of them bounce through all of Donna Summer's Greatest Hits right up through "She Works Hard for the Money," while I quietly start cracking eggs and greasing the pan. I put the cake in the oven and turn around in search of an oven timer, to see Mrs. Milton twirling near the Playskool village. I have a Miss Clavel feeling.
"I'm just going to go use the powder room," I say to no one in particular. I open every door off the pantry, attempting to locate a bathroom.
Turning on the light in a small room, I discover four mannequins in a V configuration74 wearing sequined gowns, each with a banner across her middle. Miss Tucson. Miss Arizona. Miss Southwest. Miss Southern States. There are tiaras and scepters, framed news clippings and a baton75, all carefully displayed in glass cases.
I slowly inspect every dress, each sash, and then go over to the far wall, which is covered in glossy76, framed photographs of Mrs. Milton-the Vegas showgirl. Which, I guess, is where you go after being Miss Southern States. There is row after row of photographs of her in various sequined costumes and headdresses, wearing thick makeup77 and false lashes78. In each she's sitting on some celebrity's lap, everyone from Tony Bennett to Rod Stewart. And then I see it, halfway79 down the wall, almost hidden, a snapshot of Mrs. Milton in a short, skintight white dress, Mr. Milton, his eyes rolled back in his head, and the preacher. The caption80 on the frame reads, "The All-Night Chapel81 of Love, August 12, 199-."
I turn out the light and find the bathroom.
When I come back out Mrs. Milton is peering forlornly in the oven.
"You did it."
"Yes, ma'am." I just said "ma'am."
"You did it." She seems to be having trouble absorbing the information.
"It's almost done," I offer reassuringly82.
"Oh, goodie! Who wants frosting?" She pulls six tubs of different-flavored frosting out of the fridge. "Carter, get the food dye." Grayer and Carter mambo over. She grabs sprinkles, silver balls, and candy confetti from the cupboards and starts squirting the food dye Carter hands her directly into the tubs. "Ooohwee!" She's laughing uncontrollably now.
"Mrs. Milton," I say, standing back with apprehension83, "I think it's time for Grayer and me to go."
"Tina!"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Call me Tina! You can't leave," she calls over her shoulder as she scoops84 a fingerful of frosting into her mouth.
"I DON'T WANT TO GO HOME!" Grayer panics, his fists tightly clenching85 a bouquet86 of plastic spoons.
"See, nobody has to leave. Now, who ... wants ... frosting?" She reaches into two of the containers, pulling out two handfuls of frosting and catapulting them, one at Carter, one at Grayer. "Frosting fight!" She hands a tub to each boy and the frosting starts flying. I try to duck behind the island, but Tina hits me squarely across the chest. I haven't been in a food fight since middle school, but I grab a tub of pink and fling a small handful at her-just paying her back for the sweater-and then I'm out.
"Ooh-hah!" They are laughing hysterically87. The boys roll on the floor, mushing frosting in each other's hair. Tina grabs some silver balls and sprinkles them over the boys like snow.
"What's going on down there?" Lizzie's stern English voice calls from upstairs.
"Ooh, we're in trouble," she says. "Carter, I think we're in trouble." They all crack up again. Lizzie comes into the kitchen in her terry bathrobe and slippers88.
"Oh, my God." She looks around. There is frosting everywhere, dripping off the French tiles and the topiaries lining89 the window.
"Oh, Lizzie, we were just having fun. Loosen up! Don't be so British."
"Tina!" Lizzie uses my Wicked Witch voice. "Go get in the tub!" Tina looks crestfallen90 and starts to cry, sinking in her robe and revealing a bit too much of her impressive superstructure.
"But I... We were ... We were just having fun. Please don't tell John. You had fun, didn't you, boys?"
"I had fun. Don't be sad." Grayer gently touches her head, patting bits of pink frosting into her blonde hair.
Tina looks at Lizzie and wipes her nose on her sleeve. "Okay, okay." She hunkers in front of the boys. "Mommy's gonna go take a bath, okay?" She pats each one on the head and then walks over to the banister. "You come back real soon, Grayer, you hear?" she murmurs91 to herself as she disappears down the stairs.
"Good-bye, Tina!" Grayer shouts. And with a little backward wave she's gone. I wait for Carter to protest, but he's quiet. We strip the boys and Lizzie gives me a pair of Carter's pajamas92 and a plastic bag for Grayer's clothes. We put on The jungle Book and try to clean up the kitchen.
"Dammit," Lizzie says, scrubbing on her hands and knees. "Mr. Milton might come home tonight and if he sees this he'll send her back to Hazelden and it's terrible for Carter, her disappearing for weeks at a time when his father travels so much. It absolutely devastates93 him." Lizzie wrings94 out the sponge. "He asked me to go with her-to Hazelden. So I could, you know, figure out when she would use again and intervene."
"What's she on?" I ask, though I already have a pretty good idea.
"Coke. Alcohol. Prescription96 stuff when she can't sleep."
"How long has this been going on for?"
"Oh, years," she says, squeezing out her sponge into the bucket. "I think since she came to New York. She fell in with some really posh junkies, celebrities97 and the like. He leaves her alone here all the time, so it's hard for her. But there's no prenup, so I guess he's just waiting for her to OD." Well, this certainly puts panties in perspective. "I know I should quit, but my visa extension is attached to this job. If I leave Carter it means going home and I really want to stay in America." I just wring95 out my sponge, not knowing what to say. "Here, why don't you guys push off? I'll finish this."
"You sure?"
"Oh, yeah. Tomorrow it'll be something else." Grayer and Carter are loath98 to be parted, but we manage to get all the way downstairs and out the door.
"Good-bye, Carter!" he shouts as I hail a cab. "Good-bye, Tina!" Since we're only going four blocks it seems ridiculous, but in addition to everything I was carrying before, I'm now sporting a plastic bag of Grayer's clothes and my raincoat in a shopping bag so my sweater doesn't shed sprinkles on it.
"What happened to you all?" James asks as he helps us out of the taxi.
"We got in a food fight with Tina," Grayer explains as he pads ahead of me in Carter's Tigger pajamas.
Upstairs I turn on the bathwater and put some tofu dogs on the stove while Grover plays in his room.
"Hello?" a strange voice calls from the maid's room.
"Hello?"
A woman I've never seen before emerges from the darkness, wearing Connie's uniform.
"Hello, I'm Maria," she says in a South American accent. "I was waiting for Mrs. X and must have fallen asleep. I didn't want to just leave on my first day without saying good-bye."
"Oh ... hi. Hi, I'm Nanny. I take care of Grayer." I introduce myself for the third time today. "Actually, Mrs. X is out to dinner and probably won't be back till late. You go on home and I'll tell her you waited when she gets back."
"Oh, great. Thanks."
"Who are you?" Grover stands blocking the doorway in his briefs.
"Grayer, this is Maria." Grayer sticks his tongue out, turns and runs back to his room. "Grayer" I turn back to her to apologize. "I'm sorry. Please don't take it personally. He's had a really long day." I gesture to my buttercream sodden99 self with a half-smile. "Actually I was just gonna go give him his bath. Really, it's okay to leave. Not to worry."
"Thanks," she says, folding her coat over her arm.
"No problem. See you tomorrow." I smile at her. I walk through the apartment, turning on lamps Connie cleaned only two days ago.
I go into Grayer's room, where he's still dancing in his underwear in front of his closet mirror. "Come on, Baryshnikov." I plunk him in the bath.
"That was so fun, Nanny. Remember when she threw the frosting and it hit my butt31?" He convulses in giggles100 again. I sit down on the toilet while he soaps up the wall, plays with his frogmen, and hums a little Donna.
"G, you almost done?" I ask when I'm tired of using his baby comb to scrape the frosting from my sweater.
"Beep'beep. Toot-toot. Beep-beep. Toot-toot." He shakes his soapy tush in the water.
"Come on, it's late." I hold up the towel.
"What did the girls do?"
"Who?"
"The bad girls. You know, Nanny, the bad, bad girls." He shakes
his hips101. "Why are they bad?"
"They didn't listen to their nannies."
Mrs. X didn't seem to notice as she breezed past me to her bedroom that, in a torrential April downpour, I left wearing only a T-shirt, carrying my sweater and coat in a shopping bag. I wait for the elevator, gingerly putting my sweater back on so I don't freeze. I got as much frosting out of my hair as I could in the laundry room, but I'm still crumbling102 out a few hardened bits when the elevator door opens.
"Oh, shit." He looks flustered103. "Hi!"
"Hi!" I can't believe it!
"What are you doing here?"
"Oh, man," he says, crestfallen, "I was going to surprise you. I had this whole plan, with flowers and everything-"
"Well, mission accomplished104! What happened to Cancun?" I step into the elevator, shaking at the unexpected sight of my H. H. in muddy jeans and my NYU sweatshirt.
"That was just to throw you off the scent-I was going to be waiting in the lobby tomorrow night-in a suit. We were going to go dancing." I beam at him and he gives me a once-over. "Looks like you and Grayer have been doing performance art again."
"Well, I've just returned from the Play Date in Hell with a crackhead mom. And I'm not being metaphorical105, I mean an actual crackhead. She was coked up out of her mind, determined106 to be Betty fucking Crocker and we got dragged right into it-"
"God, I missed you," he interrupts, grinning from ear to ear as the door opens to the lobby. He leans over to wipe traces of frosting gently off my eyebrow107 and, without a second thought, I reach my arm under his to press the button for the eleventh floor. The door politely slides closed.
It is a carnal frosting frenzy108.
Wrapped in his navy flannel sheet, I perch109 on the edge of H. H.'s kitchen table as he throws a dryer110 sheet in with my clothes. He closes the metal door. "Hungry?" He turns, illuminated111 by the light from the neighbors' kitchen.
"What do you have?" I ask as he opens the fridge.
"My mom usually leaves a pretty stocked kitchen when she knows I'm going to be here by myself. Tortellini?" He brandishes112 a package.
"Ugh, if I never see another tortellini-" I shuffle113 over to peer into the refrigerator alongside him.
"Lasagna?" he asks.
"Ooooh, yes, please."
"How about some wine?"
I nod, grabbing a bottle of red and pushing the door closed with my hip. I lean against the fridge and watch him pull out plates and set us up at the table in his polka-dot boxers114. Go me.
"Should I heat this up?" he asks, kissing my bare shoulder as he passes.
"Probably. Want some help?"
"No, you sit down." He hands me a wine glass. "You've had a hard day, frosting girl." He pulls silverware out of a drawer and carefully lays it out on the table.
"So, where are your parents?"
"They took my brother to Turkey for his break."
"Why aren't you in Turkey?" I sip115 my wine.
"Because I'm here." He smiles.
"Here is good." I pour a second glass and hand it to him.
He looks over at me, illuminated by the light from the microwave. "You look beautiful."
"Oh, this old thing? It's a toga from the L. L. Bean collection." He laughs.
"You know, I'm doing Latin with Grayer now. How old were you when you started Latin?"
"Umm . .. fourteen?" He pulls the lasagna out of the microwave and comes over with two forks.
"Well, you must have been a late bloomer, because he's four. He's wearing a tie now, have I mentioned that? Not a child's tie, the full-grown, hang-to-the-floor-on-him kind."
"What does his mom say?"
"She doesn't even notice. She's been pretty off the deep end- she fired Connie for, like, no apparent reason and Connie's been there since before Grayer was even born."
"Yeah, that man drives his wives to the brink116."
"Wait-what?"
"Yeah, when Mr. X was cheating on his first wife, she completely laid into James in the lobby right in front of some board members."
I start choking on lasagna. "His first who?!"
"His first wife, um, Charlotte, I think, maybe." He looks incredulously at me. "You didn't know?"
"No, I did not know. He was married before?" I have to stand up, hoisting117 my sheet with me.
"Yeah, but it was, like, a long time ago. I just assumed you knew."
"Why would I know?! Nobody tells me anything. Oh, my God. Does he have any other kids?" I start pacing around the table. "I don't know-I don't think so."
"What was she like? What did she look like? Did she look like Mrs. X?"
"I don't know. She was pretty. She was blond-"
"Was she young?"
"I was a kid. I dunno-she just seemed like a grown-up to me."
"Not helping118. Think. How long were they together?"
"Jeez, maybe seven, eight years-"
"But no kids, huh?"
"Unless they kept them in their storage bin32." I pause by the sink to entertain the idea for a brief moment.
"So, why'd they split?"
"Mrs. X," he says, taking a big forkful of lasagna.
"What do you mean, 'Mrs. X'?"
"Can we talk about you in the sheet some more?" He reaches out for me as I pass.
"No. What do you mean, 'Mrs. X'?"
"He was having an affair with Mrs. X."
"WHAT??!!" I nearly drop the sheet.
"Will you please sit down and have some lasagna?" He points his fork at the chair opposite him.
I sit down and take a gulp119 of my wine. "Okay, but you have to begin at the beginning and leave nothing out."
"Okay, according to my mom, Charlotte X was a big art collector. She bought everything at Gagosian, where your Mrs. X worked. Apparently120, Charlotte sent Mr. X over to approve one of her larger purchases and ... they hit it," he says, grinning.
"Mrs. X??!!!" I cannot imagine Mrs. X hitting it. Period.
"Yeah, and sometimes he would bring her here when his wife was away and the doormen started talking. So pretty soon everyone in the building knew." He stares into his wine glass before sipping121.
"I just cannot. Cannot, cannot, cannot believe it."
"Well... it's true. I saw it with my own twelve-year-old eyes. She was hot."
"Shut up," I splutter.
"No, she was red lipstick122, tight dress, heels, the whole thing. She ... was... hhhooot."
"Just finish the story."
"Well, Seven Twenty-one Legend goes Charlotte found stockings that didn't belong to her and went racing123 down to the lobby, clutching them in her hand, and completely lost it at James, wanting to know who had been up in the apartment. She moved out a few weeks later and your Mrs. X moved in."
I put the wine glass down. "I cannot believe you didn't tell me about this," I say, suddenly a little cold in my sheet as the high tenor124 of emotion from the ninth floor catches up with me.
"Well, you've been so stressed out-"
He puts down his fork. I push sharply back from the table and step over to the dryer. "So, if I don't know about it, then it doesn't affect me." I pull out my damp clothes. "Such fucking Boy Logic125. I'm sorry-have I been bringing you down with this little job of mine?"
"Look, Nan, I said I was sorry." He stands.
"No you didn't. You did not say you were sorry." Warm tears fill my eyes as I try awkwardly to pull on my damp sweater without revealing myself beneath the sheet.
He comes around the table and gently takes the sweater. "Nan, I'm sorry. Lesson learned: tell Nan everything." He reaches his hand around my bare waist.
"It's just that you're the only person in my corner and to find out you're holding out on me-"
"Hey, now," he murmurs, pulling me against him. "I am the mayor of your corner."
I mush my face into his collarbone. "I'm sorry, I'm just so burned out. I know I'm way too consumed by this job. I really don't want to care if he had a first wife. I really don't want to spend tonight talking about them."
He kisses the top of my head. "Well, then, how about some music?" I nod up at him and he goes to the stereo on the counter. "So I guess Donna Summer is out?"
I laugh, willing myself to return to the eleventh floor. I shuffle up behind him and wrap us both in the sheet.
I take another sip of my third cup of coffee and try to stay awake as I wait for Grayer's dinner to finish steaming through. Despite my afterglow it's still been a very long day on only two hours' sleep. I push up the sleeves on the faded heather crewneck H. H. gave me this morning so that I wouldn't be coming to work in the same clothes I wore yesterday. Not that these people would notice if I came to work wearing a clown nose and pasties.
As I slide the steamed kale onto his plate, Grayer slides down, stomach first, off his booster seat.
"Where you going, little man?" I ask, popping a steamed carrot in my mouth.
He pads over to the refrigerator and turns to admonish126 me. "I said not to call me that! No more 'little man'! I want some juice. Open the refrigerator," he says with his hands on his hips and his tie dangling127 over his pajamas.
"Please," I say over his head.
"Please! Open it! I want juice." His exhaustion128 from this afternoon's round of tutorials is starting to show.
I pull the fridge open and reach for the milk. "You know there's no juice with dinner. Soy milk or water, take your pick."
"Soy milk," he decides, reaching up with both arms.
"I'll get it for you, Grove. Why don't you get back up in your seat?" I walk back to the table with the Edensoy.
"NO! I want to. I want to, Nanny. Don't walk with it. Let me-" He's so cranky when it gets near my time to leave, making the last part of my shift the most trying.
"Hey, take it easy. Come on over and let's do it together," I suggest cheerfully. He pads back and stands at the table, his head level with the cup. She hates it when I let him pour. Not that I'm a huge fan of the task myself, as it can take forever and frequently concludes with me down on my hands and knees with a sponge. However, given his bad mood, I'd rather just do it with him than send him into a tantrum fifteen minutes before I have to leave for my eight o'clock class. He reaches his hands up to place them below mine on the box and we pour the soy milk together, spilling only marginally.
"Great job! There you go, little ma-Grover. Climb back up and let's knock dinner off." He climbs onto his booster seat, stabbing halfheartedly at the limp vegetables, completely forgetting the glass of milk. I look at my watch and decide rinsing129 off the dishes will be the most productive way to pass my last few minutes here, as he seems in no mood to chat.
I place the last pot in the dryer rack and turn to check on Grayer just in time to see him lift up the cup and very deliberately130 pour it on the floor.
"Grayer!" I run over with the sponge. "Grayer! Why did you do that?" I look up from the floor. He is sheepish, biting down on his bottom lip, clearly a little shocked at himself. He shifts away from me in his booster. I crouch131 next to him. "Grayer, I asked you a question. Why did you just pour your milk on the floor?"
"I didn't want it. Stupidhead Maria will clean it up." He drops his head back and looks up at the ceiling. "Stop talking to me." Soy milk seeps132 up my wrists where the sweater has come unrolled. A wave of exhaustion breaks over me.
"Grayer, that is not okay. It's a waste of food. I want you to climb down here and help me clean this up." I push back his chair and he kicks out at me, narrowly missing my face. I swerve133 back, stand up, and turn away from him to count to ten. I look at my watch to make a plan before I turn around and do anything I'll regret. Jesus, she's fifteen minutes late. My class starts in forty-five minutes.
I turn back to him and respond steadily. "Fine. Stay there, then. I'm going to clean this up and then it's time for bed. You are breaking rules and that tells me that you are very tired. Too tired for stories."
"I'M NOT HUNGRY!" He bursts into tears, slumping134 down in the booster. I wipe up the milk, trying to keep H. H.'s sweater away from the wet floor, and squeeze the sponge out into his plate.
By the time I've gotten everything into the dishwasher Grayer has tuckered himself out and is ready to forget about the whole incident. I place his tie over his shoulder and carry him back to his room, noting that I now have a leisurely135 twenty minutes to make it to Washington Square for Clarkson's lecture and have not received so much as a phone call from this child's mother. I keep hearing the whir of the elevator and perking136 up, ready for her to walk in the door and take over so I can cab it to class.
I peel Grayer down to his birthday suit. "Okay, go in the bathroom and pee, please, so we can put on your nighttime pull-ups." He runs into the bathroom and I pace; I only ask to leave before eight on Thursday nights, for God's sake. You'd think she could manage just one night out of five.
The bathroom door swings open and Grover stands in the door frame in a naked ta-da, arms over his head, tie hanging over his privates. He runs past me to the bed and grabs his pajama top.
"If I put 'em on can we read a book? One book?" He struggles to pull the striped shirt over his head and my heart goes out to him.
I sit down on the comforter to help, turning him to face me between my knees. "Grayer, why did you pour the milk on the floor?" I ask softly.
"I felt like it," he says, resting his hands on my knees.
"Grove, it hurt my feelings because I had to clean it up. It's not okay to be mean to people and it is not okay to be mean to Maria. It makes me very sad when you call her 'stupidhead' because she's my friend and she's going to do nice things for you every day." I lean forward and circle him in my arms as he puts his fingers up in my hair.
"Nanny, sleep over on the floor, okay? Just sleep over and then we can play trains in the morning."
"I can't, G. I have to go home and feed George. You wouldn't want George not to have any dinner. Now go pick out one book and we'll read it. One." He heads over to the bookcase. The front door mercifully clicks open and Grover runs out into the hall. Five minutes! I have five minutes to get to class! I follow right behind him and we both catch up to Mrs. X, clad in a Burberry trench137, about a foot from her office. It is clear from her hunched138 shoulders and quick step that she had no intention of coming into Grayer's room.
"Mommy!" Grayer wraps around her from behind.
"I have class," I say, "I have to go. Um, it's at eight on Thursdays-"
She turns to me as she attempts to spatula139 Grayer from her leg. "I'm sure you can still make it if you take a cab," she says distractedly.
"Right. Well, it's eight now, so ... I'll just get my shoes, then. Good night, Grayer." I scurry140 into the hall to pull my stuff on, hoping the elevator hasn't gone down yet.
I hear her sigh. "Mommy's exhausted141, Grayer. Go get into bed and I'll read you one verse from your Shakespeare reader and then it's lights out."
Down on the street I run past the doorman to the corner and flail142 madly for a cab, hoping, at least, to make it downtown for the closing summary. I unroll the window completely, promising143 myself that I'll clarify my hours before next week's class and knowing that I probably won't.
A few days later I pull out from my mailbox, in addition to the usual barrage144 of J. Crew and Victoria's Secret catalogs, two envelopes which give me pause. The first is on Mrs. X's cream business stationery145, usually reserved for her committee work.
April 30 Dear Nanny,
I would like to share with you a matter of concern to Grayer's father and myself. It has come to our attention that after you left in such a hurry last night there was a puddle146 of urine found beneath the small garbage can in Grayer's bathroom.
I understand that you have your academic obligations, but I am, frankly, alarmed by your lack of awareness147 of such a situation. As per our agreement, in the hours during which you work here we are to receive your utmost and constant attention. Such a glaring oversight148 gives me pause as to the consistency149 of your performance.
Please review the following rules:
1. Grayer is to wear pull-ups when he gets into bed.
2. Grayer is not to drink juice after five P.M.
3. You are to be supervising him at all times.
4. You are to be familiar with the cleaning supplies and use them accordingly.
I trust you will review the consistency of your care and note that if an incident of this nature repeats itself I shall not have to pay you for that hour. I do not expect that we will have to discuss this again.
Hope you both have fun on your play date with Alex! Please be sure to pick up my coat at the tailors', it should be ready after two.
Sincerely,
Mrs. X.
Right.
The second envelope is lined in Crane's tomato red. I pull out a wad of hundred-dollar-bills held together by a sterling150 money clip engraved151 with an X.
Dear Nanny,
I will be returning from Chicago the third week of June. I'd appreciate it if you could see that the apartment is stocked with the following:
Lillet = 6 bottles
Foie gras - 6
Teuscher champagne152 truffles - 1 box
Steaks - 2
Godiva chocolate ice cream - 2 pints153
Oysters154 - 4 dozen
Lobsters155 - 2
Lavender linen156 water
Keep the change,
Thanks, Ms. C
What is up with these women and lavender water?
The quadroon nurse was looked upon as a huge encumbrance157, only good to button up waists and panties and to brush and part hair; since it seemed to be a law of society that hair must be parted and brushed.
-THE AWAKENING
收听单词发音 |
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rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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pro
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| n.赞成，赞成的意见，赞成者 | |
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holder
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| n.持有者，占有者；(台，架等)支持物 | |
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vestiges
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| 残余部分( vestige的名词复数 )； 遗迹； 痕迹； 毫不 | |
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amorphous
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| adj.无定形的 | |
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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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expertise
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| n.专门知识(或技能等)，专长 | |
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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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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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blotches
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| n.（皮肤上的）红斑，疹块( blotch的名词复数 )；大滴 [大片]（墨水或颜色的）污渍 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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mink
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| n.貂，貂皮 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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hisses
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| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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slumps
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| 萧条期( slump的名词复数 )； （个人、球队等的）低潮状态； （销售量、价格、价值等的）骤降； 猛跌 | |
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undoes
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| 松开( undo的第三人称单数 )； 解开； 毁灭； 败坏 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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tilts
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| （意欲赢得某物或战胜某人的）企图，尝试( tilt的名词复数 ) | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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unties
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| 松开，解开( untie的第三人称单数 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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housekeepers
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| n.（女）管家( housekeeper的名词复数 ) | |
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thong
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| n.皮带；皮鞭；v.装皮带 | |
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profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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maroon
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| v.困住，使（人）处于孤独无助之境；n.逃亡黑奴；孤立的人；酱紫色，褐红色；adj.酱紫色的，褐红色的 | |
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43
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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44
soothes
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| v.安慰( soothe的第三人称单数 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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45
groggy
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| adj.体弱的；不稳的 | |
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46
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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buzzer
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| n.蜂鸣器；汽笛 | |
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48
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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49
zipper
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| n.拉链；v.拉上拉链 | |
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50
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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51
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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52
antelope
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| n.羚羊；羚羊皮 | |
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53
abdomen
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| n.腹，下腹(胸部到腿部的部分) | |
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54
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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55
rococo
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| n.洛可可；adj.过分修饰的 | |
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56
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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57
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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58
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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59
buddy
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| n.（美口）密友，伙伴 | |
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60
awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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61
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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62
vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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63
drizzle
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| v.下毛毛雨；n.毛毛雨，蒙蒙细雨 | |
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64
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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65
full-time
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| adj.满工作日的或工作周的，全时间的 | |
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66
exhale
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| v.呼气，散出，吐出，蒸发 | |
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67
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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68
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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69
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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70
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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71
fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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72
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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73
vanilla
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| n.香子兰，香草 | |
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74
configuration
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| n.结构，布局，形态，(计算机)配置 | |
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75
baton
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| n.乐队用指挥杖 | |
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76
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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77
makeup
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| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
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78
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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79
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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80
caption
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| n.说明，字幕，标题；v.加上标题，加上说明 | |
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81
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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82
reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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83
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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84
scoops
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| n.小铲( scoop的名词复数 )；小勺；一勺[铲]之量；（抢先刊载、播出的）独家新闻v.抢先报道( scoop的第三人称单数 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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85
clenching
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的现在分词 ) | |
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86
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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87
hysterically
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| ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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88
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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89
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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90
crestfallen
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| adj. 挫败的，失望的，沮丧的 | |
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91
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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92
pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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93
devastates
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| v.彻底破坏( devastate的第三人称单数 )；摧毁；毁灭；在感情上（精神上、财务上等）压垮 | |
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94
wrings
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| 绞( wring的第三人称单数 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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95
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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96
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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97
celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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98
loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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99
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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100
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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101
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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102
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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103
flustered
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| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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104
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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105
metaphorical
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| a.隐喻的，比喻的 | |
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106
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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107
eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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108
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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109
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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110
dryer
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| n.干衣机，干燥剂 | |
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111
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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112
brandishes
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| v.挥舞( brandish的第三人称单数 )；炫耀 | |
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113
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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114
boxers
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| n.拳击短裤；（尤指职业）拳击手( boxer的名词复数 )；拳师狗 | |
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115
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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116
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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117
hoisting
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| 起重，提升 | |
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118
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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119
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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120
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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121
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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122
lipstick
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| n.口红，唇膏 | |
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123
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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124
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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125
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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126
admonish
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| v.训戒；警告；劝告 | |
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127
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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128
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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129
rinsing
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| n.清水，残渣v.漂洗( rinse的现在分词 )；冲洗；用清水漂洗掉（肥皂泡等）；（用清水）冲掉 | |
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130
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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131
crouch
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| v.蹲伏，蜷缩，低头弯腰；n.蹲伏 | |
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132
seeps
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| n.（液体）渗( seep的名词复数 )；渗透；渗出；漏出v.（液体）渗( seep的第三人称单数 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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133
swerve
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| v.突然转向，背离；n．转向，弯曲，背离 | |
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134
slumping
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的现在分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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135
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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136
perking
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| （使）活跃( perk的现在分词 )； （使）增值； 使更有趣 | |
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137
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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138
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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139
spatula
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| n.抹刀 | |
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140
scurry
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| vi.急匆匆地走；使急赶；催促；n.快步急跑，疾走；仓皇奔跑声；骤雨，骤雪；短距离赛马 | |
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141
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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142
flail
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| v.用连枷打；击打；n.连枷（脱粒用的工具） | |
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143
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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144
barrage
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| n.火力网，弹幕 | |
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145
stationery
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| n.文具；(配套的)信笺信封 | |
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146
puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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147
awareness
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| n.意识，觉悟，懂事，明智 | |
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148
oversight
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| n.勘漏，失察，疏忽 | |
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149
consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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150
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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151
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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152
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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153
pints
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| n.品脱( pint的名词复数 )；一品脱啤酒 | |
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154
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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155
lobsters
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| 龙虾( lobster的名词复数 )； 龙虾肉 | |
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156
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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157
encumbrance
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| n.妨碍物，累赘 | |
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