Oh ...my ...God
Sarah cracks her front door open to the extent the chain will allow, revealing flannel1 cloud pajamas2 and a pencil holding her blond bun in place. "Okay, half an hour-that's it. I mean it, thirty minutes. I'm home to cram3 for my orgo final, not sort through the Xes' dirty laundry."
"Why did you schlep yourself all the way back into the city to study?" Josh asks as Sarah unlocks the chain and lets us into the Englund family's front hall.
"Have you ever met, Jill, my roommate?"
"I don't think so," Josh says, taking off his jacket.
"Don't worry-you're not missing much-she's a theater major and her 'final' is performing five minutes of her life for the heads of the department-throw your stuff on the bench-so she's constantly standing4 up in our room, saying 'Dammit!', and sitting back down. I mean, how hard is it to sit and read a magazine for five minutes?" She rolls her eyes. "Do you guys want something to drink?" We follow her into the kitchen, which still has the same yellow daisy wallpaper that it did when we were in kindergarten.
"Sing Slings5." I request Sarah's speciality.
"Coming right up," she says, stretching to pull a cocktail6 shaker and sour mix out of a high cabinet. "Have a seat." She gestures to the long green table by the window.
"It would be much cooler if this were a round table, like we could be the Knights7 of the Panty Roundtable," Josh says.
"Josh," I say, "the panties aren't the focus right now-the letter is-"
"We have a round coffee table in the living room," Sarah offers.
"We are totally doing this at a round table," Josh decides.
"Nan, you know the way," Sarah says, handing me a bag of Pirate's Booty. I lead Josh into the living room and plop down on the Persian carpet around the coffee table. Sarah follows with a tray of Singapore Slings. "Okay," she says, carefully sliding the tray onto the coffee table. "The clock is ticking-spill it."
"Let's just see the goods," Josh says, taking a sip8.
I reach into my backpack and pull out the Ziploc baggie, along with Ms. Chicago's letter, and lay them ceremoniously in the middle of the table. We sit in silence for a moment, staring at the evidence as if they were eggs about to hatch.
"Man, it really is a fucking panty roundtable," Josh murmurs10, reaching out toward the bag.
"No!" I say, slapping his hand. "The panties stay in the bag- that is the one condition of the Round Table. Got it?"
He folds his hands primly12 in his lap, sighing. "Fine. So, for the edification of the court, would you care to review the facts of the case?"
"I found Ms. Chicago practically hanging out in Mrs. X's bed four months ago, and then, all of a sudden, I received a letter at my home-"
"Exhibit A," Sarah says, waving the letter.
"Which means she knows where I live! She's hunted me down! Is there nowhere for me to hide?"
"It's so over the line," Sarah confirms.
"Oh, does Nan have a line?" Josh asks.
"Yes! I have a line. It's drawn13 right across Eighty-sixth Street. They cannot come to my home!" I feel myself starting to get hysterical14. "I have a thesis paper to write! Exams to take! A job to find! What I do not have-is time. I cannot be running around NYU with Mr. X's mistress's underwear in my bag. I cannot be juggling15 their secrets on a full course load!"
"Nan, look," Sarah says gently, reaching around the table to put her hand on my back. "You still have power here. Disengage. Just give it all back and call it a day."
"Give it all back to who?" I ask.
"To the skank," Josh says. "Mail that shit back to her and let her know you don't want to play."
"But what about Mrs. X? If this all comes out and she finds out I had the panties and didn't tell her-"
"What's she gonna do? Kill you?" Sarah asks. "Put you in jail for the rest of your life?" She holds up her glass. "Send 'em back and quit."
"I can't quit. I don't have time to look for another job and my Real Job-at whatever school I can convince to hire me-won't start till September. Besides"-I open the bag of cheese poofs, finished with my bout9 of self-pity-"I just can't leave Grayer."
"You're gonna be leaving him at some point," Josh reminds me.
"Yeah, but if I want to stay in his life I can't end on bad terms with her," I say. "But you're right. I'll send this stuff back."
"And look, that only took us twenty minutes," Sarah says. "Which still leaves ten minutes for you to run my orgo flashcards with me."
"The fun never stops," I say.
Josh leans over to give me a hug. "Don't sweat it, Nan, you'll be fine. Hey-let's not overlook the fact that you guessed Ms. Chicago's panties would be black lace thongs16, like, months before we found 'em. That's gotta be a marketable skill."
I empty my glass. "Well, if you know a game show on which I can turn that into ready cash, lemme know."
I survey the disheveled piles of books, highlighted photocopies17, and empty pizza boxes strewn all over my room that I've accumulated since I got home from work Friday. It's four A.M. and I've been writing for forty-eight straight hours, which is significantly less time for my thesis than I allotted18 myself. But, short of leaving Grayer to care for himself in the apartment, I didn't really have a choice.
I glance over at the brown manila envelope that's been resting against my printer since The Panty Roundtable a week ago. Taped and stamped, it only remains19 to be ceremoniously deposited in a mailbox after I deliver my thesis in four hours. Then Ms. Chicago and NYU will be well on their way to becoming a distant memory.
I grab another handful of M&M's out of the quarter-pound bag. I probably have all of five pages to go, but can barely keep my eyes open. A loud snore erupts from behind the screen. Fucking hairy pilot idiot.
I stretch my arms out to yawn, just as another guttural snore punctuates20 the silence, sending George darting21 with intense purpose across the room and diving into a neglected heap of dirty clothes.
I'm so tired I feel like my eyes are filled with playground sand. Desperate to regain22 some semblance23 of lucidity24, I step carefully around the debris25 to locate my headphones and plug them into the stereo. I pull them onto my head and crouch26 down to spin the tuner until I find thumping27 dance music. I rock my head to the rhythm, turning the volume up until I feel the beat make its way down to my lucky turtle socks. I stand up to dance around in the small radius28 allowed me by the headphone cord. Bongo drums fill my ears and I shimmy wildly amid the books, eyes closed, willing my adrenaline to perk29 me up.
"NAN!" I open my eyes and slightly recoil30 at the sight of Mr. Hairy in a T-shirt and boxers31, one hand carelessly scratching in his shorts. "WHAT THE HELL? IT'S ALMOST FOUR IN THE MORNING!" he bellows32.
"Sorry?" I slide the headphones off my ears, noticing that this action does not decrease the volume. He points exasperatedly at the stereo where my floor show has unplugged the headphones.
I lunge for the off button. "God, sorry. My thesis is due tomorrow and I'm so tired. I was just trying to wake up."
He stomps34 off to the other end of the studio. "Whatever," he grumbles35 into the darkness.
"As long as you're comfortable!" I mouth silently in his direction. "As long as you're happy, sleeping here even when Charlene is flying all-nighters from Yemen! As long as my rent-paying-utilities-paying-can-only-get-to-the-bathroom-during-daylight-hours self is not disturbing you." I roll my eyes and head back to the computer. Four hours, five pages. I grab another handful of M&M's; let's go, Nan.
The alarm wakes me at six-thirty, but it requires quite a few bleeps and one very disgruntled "WHAT THE HELL?" to raise my weary head off the pillow. I look at the clock; sixty minutes of sleep in forty-eight hours ought to do me just fine. I uncurl from the tight fetal position in which I passed out mere36 seconds ago and reach down to pull on a pair of jeans.
Pink light spills in through the open window, illuminating37 the disarray38, which looks as if librarians came over and partied very hard. The computer hums loudly, mixing with the chirps39 of birds outside. I lean over the chair and wiggle the mouse to get past the screen saver and click Print. I click again on OK, appreciating that my computer feels compelled to check in with me at least twice regarding all major decisions. I hear the Style Writer run its warm-up swipe and shuffle40 groggily41 off to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
By the time I return not a stitch of progress has been made. "Jesus," I mutter, checking the Print Monitor to see what's In the Queue. A message pops up on the screen to notify me that Error Seventeen has occurred and that I should either reboot or call the service center. Fine.
I press save and shut down the machine, careful to pull out the disk on which I saved the five-thirty A.M. version. I restart as instructed, while pulling on boots, tying a sweater around my waist, and waiting for the screen to light up again. I check my watch: six-fifty. One hour and ten minutes to shove this behemoth under Clarkson's door. I press a myriad42 of buttons, but the screen remains dark. My heart pounds. Nothing I press can cajole my computer back to life. I grab the disk, my wallet, keys, the Ms. Chicago package, and run out of the apartment.
I jog up to Second Avenue, both arms waving over my head to hail a cab. I leap into the first one that languorously43 pulls over, trying to remember where, in the maze44 that is NYU's campus, the computer center is located. For some reason I have been unable to commit most campus locations to memory and suspect some Freudian connection between logistics and my fear of bureaucracy is responsible.
"Uh, it's off West Fourth, um, and Bleecker, I think. Just head in that direction and I'll tell you when we get close!" The driver takes off, braking sharply before each light. The streets are pretty empty, save the street cleaners whirring past and the men in suits and overcoats disappearing, briefcase45 first, down subway steps. Why this paper has to be in at eight A.M. is utterly46 beyond me. Some people get to mail in their final papers. Oh, who am I kidding? If that were the case, I'd just be in a frantic47 cab ride to the post office.
I hop48 out of the taxi on Waverly Place, taking the disk, my wallet, and keys just as a girl in a shiny outfit49 and smeared50 makeup51 shoves me aside to get in the cab. I catch the unmistakable whiff of a long night out-beer, stale cigarettes, and Drakkar Noir. I am comforted by the reminder52 that my life at this moment could be worse- I could be a sophomore53 doing the Walk/Cab Ride of Shame.
It's a little past seven-fifteen by the time I find my way, almost by smell, to the main computer center on the fifth floor of the education building.
"Need to see your ID," a girl with green hair and white lips mumbles54 from behind a large Dunkin' Donuts cup clutched at chin height. I riffle through my wallet a moment before remembering that the card she's referring to currently sits at the bottom of my backpack, upon which George is probably peacefully asleep.
"I don't have it. But I just need to print something out; it'll only take five minutes, I swear." I grip the counter and peer intently at her. She rolls her heavily kohled eyes.
"Can't," she says, pointing halfheartedly at the list of rules printed out in black-and-white on the wall behind her.
"Okay! Okay, here, let's see, I have my sophomore ID and ..." I tug55 cards madly out of their leather slots. "Um, and a library card to Loeb. See, it says 'senior' on it!"
"No picture, though." She flips56 through her X-Man comic book.
"PLEASE, I am begging you. Beg-ging. I have, like, twenty-eight minutes to get this printed and handed in. It's my thesis; my entire college career hangs in the balance here. You can even watch me while I print!" I am starting to hyperventilate.
"Can't leave the desk." She pushes her stool back a few inches, but doesn't look up.
"Hey! Hey, you, in the ski hat!" A stick-thin boy with a name tag dangling57 from the chain around his neck glances over from where he lounges near the Xerox58. "Do you work here?"
He saunters over in blue patent leather pants. "Wants to print, but doesn't have ID," the help desk girl informs him.
I reach out and touch his arm, stretching to read his name. "Dylan! Dylan, I need your help. I need you to escort me to a printer so that I can print out my thesis, which is due, four blocks from here, in, like, twenty-five minutes." I try to breathe steadily59 in and out while the two confer.
He eyes me skeptically. "The thing is... we've had some people coming in to use the center for their own purposes. Not students, I mean, so .. ." He drifts off.
"At seven-thirty in the morning, Dylan? Really?" I try to get a handle on myself. "Look, I can even pay you for the paper. I'll make a deal with you. You watch me print and if TOGETHER, you and me, we generate anything other than a thesis paper you can throw me out!"
"Well..." He slouches against the counter. "You could be from Columbia or something."
"With a sophomore ID from NYU?" I wave the plastic card in front of his face. "Think, Dylan! Use your head, man! Why wouldn't I just print up there? Why would I come all the way down here to sneak60 past you and your partner if I could just waltz into the computer lab three feet from my dorm room, all the way uptown! Oh, God, I do not have another minute to argue with you two. What's it going to be? Am I going to fail out of college and have a cardiac arrest right here on the linoleum61 or are you two going to give me FIVE FUCKING MINUTES AT ONE OF YOUR GAZZILLION FREE COMPUTERS?" I pound my keys on the countertop for emphasis. They stare at me blankly while Patent Leather Pants weighs the evidence.
"Yeah ... Okay. But if it's not your thesis then ... I'm going to have to rip it up," I am already way past him, disk jammed into terminal number six, clicking Print like a madwoman.
I slowly emerge from the deepest of sleeps, pulling my sweater off my face to check the time. I've been out cold for almost two hours. Too tired even to make it to Josh's, somehow, in a total fog, I found this stanky couch in the far corner of the Business School lounge where I could finally give way to my exhaustion62.
I sit up and wipe the drool off the side of my mouth, getting a lusty gaze from a man highlighting his Wall Street Journal in a chair nearby. I ignore him and pull my wallet and keys from where I had stored them for safekeeping, under my butt33 in between the orange cushions, and decide to treat myself to the fancy coffee from the gourmet63 espresso shop.
As I walk down LaGuardia Place spring is in full bloom. The May sky is warm and bright and the trees in front of Citibank are thick with buds. I smile up into the cloudless sky. I am a woman who has taken this place by the horns and made it! I am a woman who will, against all bureaucratic64 odds65, probably graduate from NYU!
I take my five-dollar cup of coffee to a bench in Washington Square Park, so I can bask66 in the sun, resting against the shiny black luster67 of the wrought-iron bench. There are few people in the park at this hour, mostly children and drug dealers68, neither of whom can disturb my reverie.
A woman strolls over to the bench across the way pushing a toddler in a plaid stroller and clutching a McDonald's bag under her arm. She sits, rolling the child to face her as she unwraps two Egg McMuffins and passes one to the stroller. The pigeons cluster around my feet, pecking at the brick. I have an hour before I have to pick up Grayer; maybe I should window-shop for a cute little sundress, something to wear in the warm summer nights to come as I sip martinis with H. H. on the Hudson.
I watch the woman pull another container out of the bag and mull over how lovely hash browns would taste right now, gazing absentmindedly at the little backpack hanging loosely on one of the stroller handles. Yes, hash browns and a milk shake, maybe chocolate. My eyes trace the pink border of the cartoon on the front of the backpack. Little pear-shaped figures. All in different colors with shapes on their heads. They are all... I squint69 to make out their names ... They are all Teletubbies. I spit coffee in a good three-foot projectile70 in front of me.
Oh, my God. OH, MY GOD. I struggle to breathe as the pigeons jitter71 away. Flashes of Halloween, the dark limo ride home, the mink72 held close around Mrs. X's face, Grayer racked out beside me. I remember Mr. X snoring and Mrs. X talking and talking. Chattering73 on and on about the beach. I am in a clammy sweat. I put my hands over my forehead, trying to piece together the memory.
"Oh, my God," I say out loud, causing the woman to grab her food and stroll quickly to a bench closer to the street. Somehow I have managed to suppress for the last seven months that I sat in the back of a limo and agreed to go to Nantucket with the Xes, that too many vodka tonics74 actually made me request that she "bring it on."
"Oh. My. God." I pound the bench with my fists. Shit. I mean, I do not, do not want to live with them. It's bad enough here in the city where I can go home at the end of the day. Am I going to see Mr. X in his pajamas? His underwear? Are we even going to see him at all?
What would she possibly be hoping for? A little family vacation? Are they going to thrash it out over the hooked rug? Beat each other senseless with canoe paddles? Put Ms. Chicago up in the guest house? Ms. Chicago-
"FUCK!" I leap up, patting myself down. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I have keys, I have coffee, I have a wallet. "I have no fucking envelope." I jerk in about five different directions as I run through the last two hours and the multitude of places I could've left it. I sprint75 back to the coffee place, the orange couch, Dr. Clarkson's mailbox.
I stand, wheezing76 and sweaty, in front of the computer center help desk.
"Look, man, you've gotta clear out or for real we're gonna have to call security." Dylan tries to sound authoritative77.
I can't speak. I'm sick. I was trying to have integrity. Instead, I'm the girl who stole eight hundred dollars and a pair of dirty underwear. I'm a felon78 and a freak.
"Dude, I mean it, you better get out of here. Bob's on the noon shift and he's not nearly as cool as me." Noon. Right. Gotta go grab Grayer and drag him to Darwin's birthday party.
"STOP IT! I DON'T LIKE THAT!" Grayer screams, his face flattened79 into the metal rails that line the upper deck of the boat.
I crouch down to whisper in his assailant's ear. "Darwin, if you do not step away from Grayer in the next two seconds I'm going to throw you overboard." Darwin turns in shock to my smiling face. Good Witch/Bad Witch on three hours of sleep and out eight hundred dollars; kid, you don't want to mess with me today.
He falters80 a few feet back and Grayer, a red imprint81 running across his right cheek where it was pressed against the pipe, wraps himself around my leg. Grayer has only been the focus of Darwin's torture for the past few minutes, joining the ranks of fifty other terrorized birthday-party guests, held prisoner for the last two hours on the Circle Line Jazzfest Cruise.
"Darwin! Honey, it's almost time for your cake. Go on over to the table so Sima can help you with the candles." Mrs. Zuckerman glides82 over to us in her Gucci ballet flats and matching pedal pushers. She is a vision in pink and gold and, coupled with her multitude of diamonds, practically blinding in the afternoon sun.
"Well, Grayer, what's the matter? Don't you want cake?" She tosses her three-hundred-dollar highlights in Grayer's direction and leans against the rail beside me. I'm far too tired for small talk, but am able to put on what I hope is a charming smile.
"Great party," I finally muster83, hauling G up onto my hip84 and out of harm's way, so he can look over my shoulder into the white-crested wake behind us.
"Sima and I have been planning it for months. We really had to put our heads together to top last year's overnight at Gracie Mansion85, but I just said 'Now, Sima! Creativity is part of the special something you bring to our family, so go to it!' And I tell you, she has really done it." Screams emerge from the stern of the boat and Sima races past us, panic-stricken. Darwin follows closely behind, lunging out after her with a flaming Tiffany's lighter86.
"Darwin," Mrs. Zuckerman admonishes87 him lightly, "I said to help Sima, not set her on fire." She laughs gaily88, taking the lighter from him and clicking the top down. She hands it sternly to a red-faced Sima. "See that he doesn't run around with this next time. I shouldn't have to remind you that it was a gift from his grandfather."
Sima accepts the sterling89 silver box, without lifting her eyes. She takes Darwin's hand and pulls him delicately back to his cake.
Mrs. Zuckerman leans in to me, the gold Cs on her glasses gleaming. "I'm so lucky, really. We're like sisters." I smile and nod. She nods back at me. "Please give my regards to Grayer's mom and please be sure to tell her that I have the name of a great d-i-v-o-r-c-e lawyer for her. He got my friend Alice ten percent above her prenup."
I instinctively90 put my hand on Grayer's head.
"Well, you two have fun!" She tosses her hair to the other shoulder and walks back to the cake melee91. I guess Mr. X's residence at the Yale Club has become common knowledge.
"So, Grove92, ready for some cake?" I shift him to my other hip, straighten his tie and touch his cheek where the pipe imprint had been. His eyes are glassy and he's clearly as exhausted93 as I am.
"My tummy hurts. I don't feel good," he mumbles. I try to remember where I saw a bathroom sign.
"What kind of hurt?" I ask, attempting to define the nuances of motion sickness versus94 heartburn to a four-year-old.
"Nanny, I-" He moans into my shoulder before pitching forward to throw up. I manage to aim him over the edge so that the Hudson can receive the thrust of his vomit95, leaving my sweater dripping with only about a third.
I rub his back. "Grover, it's been a very long day." I wipe his mouth with my hand and he nods his head into my shoulder in agreement.
Two hours later Grayer is holding the front of his pants and bouncing on his Nikes in the Xes' vestibule.
"Grove, please just hold it one more second." I give the front door a last shove and it finally gives way. "There. Go!" He runs past me.
"Oof!" I hear a thud. I push the door farther open and see Grayer sprawled96 on a pile of beach towels, felled by a Tracy Tooker box.
"G, you okay?"
"That was so cool, Nanny. Man, you should have seen it. Stand there, I'm gonna do it again."
"Yeah, no." I squat97 down to take off his sneakers and pull off his pukey windbreaker. "Next time you might not be so lucky. Go pee." He runs off. I gingerly tiptoe over the hatbox, the pile of towels, two Lilly Pulitzer shopping bags, three L. L. Bean boxes, and a bag of charcoal98 briquettes. Well, we're either going to Nantucket, or moving to the burbs.
"Nanny? Is that you?" I look over and see that the dining room table is completely covered in Mr. X's summer clothes, the only things of his that Connie and I hadn't packed up.
"Yes. We just got home," I call, moving two Barneys bags out of the way.
"Oh." Mrs. X comes out, holding an armful of pastel cashmere sweaters. "You're covered in vomit." She recoils99 slightly.
"Grayer had a bit of an accident-"
"I really wish you'd keep better track of what he eats at those parties. How is Mrs. Zuckerman?"
"She sends you her regards-"
"She's so creative. She always throws the best birthdays." She stares at me expectantly, eagerly waiting for me to reenact the afternoon, complete with sock puppets and commedia dell arte. I am just too tired.
"She, um, wanted to pass on a referral."
"Yes?"
I take a deep breath, bracing100 myself. "She said that she, uh, knows a really good lawyer." I look down at Mr. X's clothes.
"Nanny," she says icily, "these are my husband's clothes for the trip." She turns away from me and her voice becomes resiliently perky. "I haven't started packing myself, yet. No one can tell me what the weather will be like. Some of our friends broiled101, some nearly froze." She drops the sweaters onto the table, sending several balled-up tennis socks rolling onto the floor. "Maria!"
"Yes, ma'am." Maria pushes open the swinging door to the kitchen.
"Can you fold these?"
"Yes, ma'am. Right away." She ducks back in the kitchen.
"I don't want to overpack, but I also don't want to have to do laundry while I'm there and I have no idea if they even have a decent dry cleaner on the island. Also, that reminds me, we'll be leaving on the fifteenth, promptly102 at eight A.M.-"
"Is that Friday?" I ask. She looks up at me. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you, it's just that the fifteenth is the day of my graduation."
"So?"
"So, I won't be able to leave at eight-"
"Well, I don't think we can delay our departure on your account," she says, walking to the bags in the front hall.
"No, the thing is, my grandmother is throwing a party for me that evening, so I really can't leave until Saturday." I follow her.
"Well, the rental103 starts on Friday, so we can't leave on Saturday," she says, as if explaining to Grayer.
"No, I understand that. I'm sure I could take a bus up on Saturday. I'd probably be there by five or so."
I follow her back to the dining room table where she adds her shopping bags to the stockpile.
"So what you're basically telling me is that, of the fourteen days we need you, you will not be available for two of them. I don't know, Nanny. I just don't know. We're invited to the Blewers' for dinner on Friday and the Pierson barbecue on Saturday. I just don't know-" She sighs. "I'll have to think about this."
"I'm really sorry. If it were anything else. But I really can't miss my graduation." I bend down to pick up the errant socks.
"I suppose not. Well, let me discuss it with Mr. X and I'll let you know." If I can miss my graduation?
"Okay, also, I wanted to ask you about getting paid, because my rent is due this week-" And you haven't paid me in three weeks. And I now owe your husband's girlfriend eight hundred dollars.
"I've been so busy. I'll try to get to the bank this week. That is, as soon as you write up your hours for me, so I can go over them-"
She is interrupted by naked Grayer peeking104 around the doorway105.
"GRAYER!" she shouts. We both freeze. "What is the house rule?"
He looks up at her. "No penises in the house?"
"That's right. No penises in the house. Where do penises stay?"
"Penises stay in the bedroom."
"Yes, in the bedroom. Nanny, would you see that he gets his clothes on?" Grayer walks solemnly ahead of me, his bare feet making sliding noises on the marble.
I see the balled-up clothes on the floor of the bathroom.
"I had an accident." He pushes at one of his wood cars with his toes.
"That's okay." I pick up the clothes and turn on the bathwater. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay, bud?"
"Okay." He puts his arms out for me to pick him up. I pull off my dirty sweatshirt and lift him up. As we wait for the tub to fill I bounce him a little and walk back and forth106. He gives the weight of his head to my shoulder and I wonder if he might be falling asleep. I walk him over to the mirror, wrapping him in a towel to keep him warm, and discover in the reflection that he's sucking his thumb.
Nanny,
I don't know if you were factoring the ferry into your calculations, but I have to point out that it can add another full hour to the journey. I was wondering if y ou could either (a) catch the eleven o'clock bus Friday night, which would get you to Nantucket at 6am or (b) take the 6am bus Saturday morning, which would get you there by one, in time for the barbecue if we go late.
Let me know,
Dear Mrs. X,
I really appreciate your looking into alternate transportation for me. While I in no way want to inconvenience you, I feel it would be impractical107 to commit to an earlier start time as I have to attend a number of graduation events on Friday evening. I will be in Nantucket by 7 P.M. and, of course, anticipate you will adjust my pay accordingly.
Speaking of which, I was wondering if you've had the chance to get to the bank as my rent is due.
Please find attached a list of my hours as you requested. Again, I really appreciate the options.
Thanks!
Nanny
Nanny,
I am a little puzzled by your recalcitrance108 regarding our departure. However, I still hope that we can reach a compromise. Perhaps you could arrive by three and take a taxi to the Piersons'?
Dear Mrs. X,
As I, of course, do not wish to be anything other than accommodating I might be able to make it there by six.
Nanny
Nanny,
Never mind. The woman the housecleaning agency furnished us with will look after Grayer until you get there.
p.s. I would like to have a conversation regarding the hours you listed for Wednesday the third. I believe I took him shopping that day.
Dear Mrs. X,
I defer109 to your records regarding the 3rd. Also, as I mentioned, I'll need to leave by two on Thursday because I have my thesis defense110.
Thanks, Nanny
Dear Mrs. X,
Just a quick reminder that my thesis defense is tomorrow, so I'll need to leave at 2 o'clock sharp. Also, if you could pay me, that would be great.
Dear Mrs. X,
I'll see you at two!
"Where is she!" I look at the oven clock for the millionth time in five minutes. 2:28. I am supposed to be defending my thesis in exactly forty-seven minutes. My entire academic career is about to culminate111 without me as a panel of professors interrogates112 an empty chair about child development!
"Don't shout." Grayer looks up, his eyebrows113 scrunched114.
"I'm sorry, Grove. Will you excuse me for a second?"
"Are you gonna pee?"
"Yes. Don't forget your milk." I leave him finishing his melon and walk into the maid's bathroom, turn on the faucet115, shut the door, flush the toilet, and scream into a hand towel. "FUCK!" My voice is absorbed by the terry cloth. "Where the fuck is she? Fucking fuck." I sit down on the bathroom floor, tears starting to well at the corners of my eyes.
"Fuck."
I should have written "two o'clock" with lipstick116 on every mirror in the apartment! I should have pinned a huge number two on the end of her pashmina when she wandered out this morning! I debate grabbing Grayer and running down Madison screaming her name like Marion Brando. My frustration117 becomes a hysterical silent giggle118, tears still running down my face.
I take a deep breath, slap my cheeks a little, dry my eyes, and try to compose myself for Grover. But I'm still giggling119 a bit when I walk back into the kitchen to find Mrs. X standing over him.
"Nanny, I'd appreciate it if you didn't leave Grayer unattended with silverware."
I look down at the spoon on his Linnaeus place mat. "I'm sorry-"
"My, you're dressed up." She picks a piece of melon off Grayer's plate.
"Thanks, actually it's for my thesis defense which starts in thirty-five minutes." I head for the door.
"Oh, right. I thought there was something." She saunters over to put her alligator120 Kelly bag on the counter. "I made it to the bank this morning. Let's sit down in my office and go over the list you gave me-" She pulls an envelope out.
"Great, thanks, but I really better run," I say over my shoulder.
She stands with one hand on her hip. "I thought this had to be done today."
"Well, if I don't go I'll be late," I call back from the front hall where I left my notes.
She sighs loudly, bringing me back into the kitchen.
"Be smart, Nanny!" Grayer cranes his head from his booster seat. "You'll be smart!"
"Thanks, Grove."
"I'm extremely busy and right now is the only convenient time for me to do this. I don't know when I'll be able to sit down with you again, Nanny. I went all the way to the bank-"
"Great. No, let's do it. Thank you." I pull out of my stack of papers a typed, revised list of all the hours I worked in the last five weeks. "So, as you can see, it averages between four and five hundred a week."
She looks down at the paper for a few moments while I shift my weight from foot to foot. "This is a little higher than we originally discussed."
"Well, the original list I gave you was two weeks ago and I've accrued121 over sixty hours since then."
She sighs and starts counting out twenties and fifties, slowly sliding them back and forth between her fingers to ensure that none of the bills are stuck together. She hands them over, her Hermes limoge bangles clanking together. "It sure is a lot of money."
I smile back at her. "Well, it adds up over five weeks." I turn on my heels, brushing Grayer's head as I pass him. "Have a great afternoon, guys!"
I slather conditioner into my hair and massage122 the idea of quitting into my head. I imagine myself, under the awning123 in front of 721 Park, giving Mr. and Mrs. X a good, swift cartoon kick that lands them in the meridian124 shrubbery. Lovely. However, the image becomes much less clear with the addition of Grayer. Grover, in his big tie, looks up at me expectantly while his parents flail125 around in the manicured shrubs126. I sigh, pushing my face under the hot water. And then there's the money. I'm nauseated127 at the thought of having to mail Ms. Chicago nearly half of what Mrs. X finally paid me today.
A little meow breaks my thoughts and I pull the curtain aside to see George, silhouetted128 in the candlelight, sitting primly beside the tub, waiting for me to splash him. I drop a little water on his head and he darts129 behind the toilet into shadow.
At least I have a quiet night to myself to celebrate a successfully defended thesis. And an eleven P.M. phone date with H. H. to look forward to. I wrap the towel around my torso, scoop130 up my clothes, and blow out the candle. Opening the bathroom door, I freeze at the sound of voices coming from the far end of the apartment. My end, to be precise.
"Hello?" I call out into the bright light. I can always tell when Charlene is home because she turns on every single light.
"I'm home," Charlene calls back flatly. My heart sinks. I pull the towel tight and walk past her screen to my side of the room. My desk lamp shines down on the candle I'd lit before getting in the shower. She stands with Hairy Pilot measuring my bed.
"It's kind of a mess in here, Nanny," she says, rolling up the tape measure. "Go over there and let's do that side of the room," she instructs Hairy, who pushes past me, nearly stepping on George to stand near my stereo.
"I had my thesis defense today, so I've been at the library every night." I step out of the way, tucking my underwear into a less visible spot in the ball under my arm as she walks with purpose to join her mate. "I'm sorry, can I help you two with something?"
She hands him one end of the tape measure and walks it back to the other wall. "I wanted to see if his couch would fit here." My stomach tightens131. This is the antithesis132 of the relaxing evening I had in mind. She stands straightening her navy skirt. "Nanny, I wanted to talk to you this week, but you never answered the phone-"
"My lease is up. I'm moving in at the end of the month," Hairy volunteers. Fabulous133.
"So that gives you, like, two weeks to find something else. That should be plenty of time," she says, grabbing a pen off my dresser to write the measurements on a Post-it. "Julie and her fiance are coming over to play cards in an hour. Are you cool with that?" She steps past me. "God, it's so steamy back here. Are you taking showers in the dark again? That's so weird134." She shakes her head.
I regain my composure as Hairy follows her, barely evading135 George's stealth attack. "I'm just on my way downtown, actually," I say to the floor. George stands under my chin to receive a drip. I reach for the phone, hoping Josh'll be pleased to hear from me.
The next morning I dig through every pocket until I find the napkin on which Josh wrote the real estate people's name. I do a quick prayer for the apartment-deprived and dial the office number.
"Hehlow!" A horrendous136 New York accent answers on the seventh ring.
"Hello, I'm looking for Pat."
"She doesn't work here anymore."
"Oh. Well, perhaps you can help me? I'm looking to rent a studio for July first."
"Can't help you."
"What?"
"Can't help you. It's only the beginning of the month. You want a place for July you show up at the end of the month with a fistful of cash, say at least twelve thousand to start, and we'll tawk."
"Cash?"
"Cash."
"I'm sorry, twelve thousand in cash?"
"Cash. For the landlord. You've gotta come with the first year's rent in cash."
"The entire first year?"
"And you have to bring documentation proving that you net, net, mind you, forty-four times the month's rent, and your guarantors-"
"My what?"
"Guarantors-the people who are going to guarantee that the rent gets paid even if you die, typically, your parents. But they must live in the tristate area so their assets can be seized and they have to net at least one hundred times the rent."
"That seems a little extreme. I just want a small studio, nothing fancy-"
"Oh, my Gawd. This is June! June! Every American under the age of thirty is graduating from something and moving here."
"But all that in cash?"
"Honey, the Wall Street kids all get relo money from their companies. You want to beat them out you gotta pay up front."
"Oh, my God."
She takes a deep breath. "What were you looking to spend?"
"I don't know . . . six, seven hundred."
"A month?" She holds the phone away from her mouth while she cackles. "Honey, do us all a favor and look in the Voice for a share."
"But I don't want to share."
"Then I would get myself an apartment in Queens and a can of pepper spray."
"Well, do you have any listings in Brooklyn?"
"We don't do the boroughs137." She hangs up.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I hear the distinct tear of a condom wrapper from the other side of Charlene's screen. Ugh! I throw myself down on the bed, pulling the pillows over my ears. Forget quitting, by graduation I'll be begging Mrs. X to let me move in.
H. H. gives Grandma another twirl around the dance floor to the strains of the salsa band she has hired for the evening from her favorite Mexican restaurant. Her apartment is aglow138 in colorful paper lanterns.
"And he can dance!" she calls out to where my parents and I are sitting on her terrace, her flamenco skirt swinging as he turns her.
Mom leans in toward me. "He's adorable."
"I know," I say with pride.
"Hey, watch it. Father's present," Dad says jokingly from where he sits in the chaise beside us. The evening is warm and Grandma set the food up out here where my friends mingle139 with my parents' friends around the candlelit tables.
"That guy over there wants to pay me to sculpt140 my elbows," Sarah says, coming over with two plates of cake and handing one to my mother.
"Yeah, sure-it starts with the elbows.. ." Dad warns'her.
The song finishes and H. H. and Grandma applaud the band.
"Darling!" Grandma comes out on his arm. "Did you get some cake?"
"Yes, Gran," I say.
"You." My grandmother snaps her fingers at my reclining dad. "Get out there and give your wife a twirl." Mom stands, extending her hand in Dad's direction. They shuffle off in step to the music. "How are my darlings?" Grandma asks as she and H. H. sit down on the chaise. "Has everyone had enough to eat and drink?"
"The party is divine, Frances," Sarah thanks her. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to make sure our friend Joshua isn't off losing his paella." She disappears onto the dance floor.
I lean back to look up at the stars. "It's strange to actually be finished with school-"
"Life is school, darling," Grandma corrects me, taking a forkful of Dad's unfinished cake.
"Then I'm in Real Estate 101," I say, picking up my fork to join her. "I only have the weekend after I get back from Nantucket to find an apartment and get all my stuff out of Chez Charlene."
"That's Mrs. Hairy to you," H. H. interjects.
Grandma reaches out her bangled arm to squeeze my hand. "I'm so sorry you can't stay with me, but I've already rearranged the guest room for Orve's potting wheel." This will be Orve's second summer-in-residence with Grandma. She has a long-held summer tradition of hosting fledgling artists from all parts of the globe-they teach her technique in exchange for sumptuous141 room and board. "You'll find something-I have faith."
"So do I, darling," H. H. says, mimicking142 my grandmother's ebullient143 tone.
She winks144 at him as she stands and I notice a glint of blue at her throat.
"New necklace, Grandma? It's charming."
"Isn't it? I was in Bendel's last week and there were these little blue lacquer letters." She fingers the tiny F and Q hanging on the gold chain around her neck. "They were all by themselves in the display case, the rest of the alphabet must have sold. I just had such a good laugh, get it? FQ, say it real fast." She laughs deeply as she merengues her way back inside and, for the first time since this afternoon's ceremony, I am alone with H. H.
"Come on," he says softly, taking my hand and leading me over to the stone balustrade overlooking the park. "I think your family rocks." "Believe it or not, I can't complain," I say, placing my arms around him as we look out across the city.
"I'm going to miss you so much," he says, giving me a squeeze.
"Sure you are. While you're off in Amsterdam with all the porn stars, smoking the pot-"
"It's The Hague. A full twenty minutes from all that. No porn stars. No pot. Just me, missing you, and a whole lot of political prisoners with grievances145."
I turn my head and reach up on my tiptoes to kiss him. "Those political prisoners, whine146, whine, whine," I murmur11.
He kisses the top of my nose and then my forehead. "And what about you? Stuck at the beach with all those lifeguards, pool boys, cabana boys-"
"Oh, my god. I'm not going to the Riviera-I'm going to stinky little Nantucket." I smack147 my hand on top of the railing. "Shit. I forgot to check my messages!"
He rolls his eyes. "Nan-"
"Wait, wait, wait-it'll only take me two minutes. I just have to call my machine and find out what time they're picking me up from the ferry tomorrow. Don't move, I'll be right back!"
I go into Grandma's bedroom to use the salmon-pink Princess phone on the night table, moving aside a few of her needlepoint pillows to sit on the sateen bedspread. As I punch the answering-machine code into the keypad the soft light of the room reminds me of sleep-overs from my childhood when she would leave the lamps on until I fell asleep.
Mrs. X's voice comes through like ice cubes dropped down the back of my dress. "Oh, Nanny, good news-our friends the Horners are flying up tomorrow at nine and have graciously offered to let you come along. So you'll be in Nantucket by nine-thirty in the morning. Now, Nanny, these are very dear friends of ours so I'm counting on you to be timely about this. Plan to meet them at the Westchester County Airport in the private-plane departure area. You'll need to take the seven-fifty Metro-North train to Rye and a taxi or something to get out to the airport. They have three girls, so they should be easy to spot. Now, they're doing this as a favor, so you really can't be late. Actually, you might want to plan to be at Grand Central Station by six-fifty just to give yourself time-" Beep.
"Your machine cut me off. I'll need you to stop by while you're out and about and pick up an article I've left with James for you on Lyme disease. Horrible. Also, I'll need you to find deer-tick repellent suitable for a four-year-old and make sure it's hypoallergenic, so it won't irritate his skin. And I would appreciate it if you could go to Polo and pick up six pairs of knee-high cotton socks, white. Take one of Grayer's shoes with you so you get the right size. I've left a pair with James so you can get them when you pick up the article and then just stick it all in your carry-on. Perfect. See you tomorrow!"
Beep.
"Nanny." I have trouble placing the voice at first. "As per my letter of instructions, I'll be arriving at the apartment tomorrow. I trust you had no trouble finding the foie gras. Have a good time in Nantucket and please say hello to Grayer for me."
AH right. I grew up and then became a governess. [Pause] I'd really tike to start a conversation, but there's no one to start a conversation with ... I don't have anybody at all.
-THE ANDRYEEVICH FAMILY GOVERNESS, THE CHERRY ORCHARD148.
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1
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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cram
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| v.填塞，塞满，临时抱佛脚，为考试而学习 | |
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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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slings
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| 抛( sling的第三人称单数 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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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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primly
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| adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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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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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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juggling
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| n. 欺骗, 杂耍(=jugglery) adj. 欺骗的, 欺诈的 动词juggle的现在分词 | |
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thongs
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| 的东西 | |
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photocopies
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| n.影印本( photocopy的名词复数 )；复印件 | |
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allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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punctuates
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的第三人称单数 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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lucidity
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| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
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debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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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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thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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perk
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| n.额外津贴；赏钱；小费； | |
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recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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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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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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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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stomps
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| v.跺脚，践踏，重踏( stomp的第三人称单数 ) | |
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grumbles
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| 抱怨( grumble的第三人称单数 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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disarray
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| n.混乱，紊乱，凌乱 | |
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chirps
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的第三人称单数 )； 啾； 啾啾 | |
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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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groggily
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| adv.酒醉地；东倒西歪地 | |
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myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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languorously
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| adv.疲倦地，郁闷地 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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briefcase
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| n.手提箱，公事皮包 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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makeup
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| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
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reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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sophomore
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| n.大学二年级生；adj.第二年的 | |
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mumbles
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| 含糊的话或声音，咕哝( mumble的名词复数 ) | |
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tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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flips
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| 轻弹( flip的第三人称单数 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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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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xerox
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| n./v.施乐复印机，静电复印 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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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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linoleum
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| n.油布，油毯 | |
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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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gourmet
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| n.食物品尝家；adj.出于美食家之手的 | |
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bureaucratic
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| adj.官僚的，繁文缛节的 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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bask
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| vt.取暖，晒太阳，沐浴于 | |
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luster
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| n.光辉；光泽，光亮；荣誉 | |
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68
dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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69
squint
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| v. 使变斜视眼, 斜视, 眯眼看, 偏移, 窥视; n. 斜视, 斜孔小窗; adj. 斜视的, 斜的 | |
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70
projectile
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| n.投射物，发射体；adj.向前开进的；推进的；抛掷的 | |
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71
jitter
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| v.神经过敏，战战兢兢 | |
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72
mink
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| n.貂，貂皮 | |
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73
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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74
tonics
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| n.滋补品( tonic的名词复数 )；主音；奎宁水；浊音 | |
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75
sprint
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| n.短距离赛跑；vi. 奋力而跑，冲刺；vt.全速跑过 | |
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76
wheezing
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的现在分词 )；哮鸣 | |
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77
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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78
felon
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| n.重罪犯；adj.残忍的 | |
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79
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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80
falters
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的第三人称单数 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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81
imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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82
glides
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| n.滑行( glide的名词复数 )；滑音；音渡；过渡音v.滑动( glide的第三人称单数 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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83
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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84
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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85
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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86
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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87
admonishes
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| n.劝告( admonish的名词复数 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责v.劝告( admonish的第三人称单数 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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88
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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89
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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90
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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91
melee
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| n.混战；混战的人群 | |
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92
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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93
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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94
versus
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| prep.以…为对手，对；与…相比之下 | |
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95
vomit
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| v.呕吐，作呕；n.呕吐物，吐出物 | |
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96
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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97
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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98
charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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99
recoils
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| n.（尤指枪炮的）反冲，后坐力( recoil的名词复数 )v.畏缩( recoil的第三人称单数 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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100
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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101
broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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102
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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103
rental
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| n.租赁，出租，出租业 | |
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104
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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105
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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106
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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107
impractical
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| adj.不现实的，不实用的，不切实际的 | |
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108
recalcitrance
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| n.固执，顽抗 | |
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109
defer
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| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
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110
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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111
culminate
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| v.到绝顶，达于极点，达到高潮 | |
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112
interrogates
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| n.询问( interrogate的名词复数 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询v.询问( interrogate的第三人称单数 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
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113
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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114
scrunched
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| v.发出喀嚓声( scrunch的过去式和过去分词 )；蜷缩；压；挤压 | |
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115
faucet
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| n.水龙头 | |
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116
lipstick
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| n.口红，唇膏 | |
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117
frustration
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| n.挫折，失败，失效，落空 | |
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118
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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119
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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120
alligator
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| n.短吻鳄(一种鳄鱼) | |
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121
accrued
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| adj.权责已发生的v.增加( accrue的过去式和过去分词 )；（通过自然增长）产生；获得；（使钱款、债务）积累 | |
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122
massage
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| n.按摩，揉；vt.按摩，揉，美化，奉承，篡改数据 | |
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123
awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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124
meridian
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| adj.子午线的；全盛期的 | |
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125
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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126
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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127
nauseated
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| adj.作呕的，厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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129
darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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130
scoop
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| n.铲子，舀取，独家新闻；v.汲取，舀取，抢先登出 | |
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131
tightens
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| 收紧( tighten的第三人称单数 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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132
antithesis
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| n.对立；相对 | |
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133
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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134
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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135
evading
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| 逃避( evade的现在分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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136
horrendous
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| adj.可怕的，令人惊惧的 | |
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137
boroughs
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| （尤指大伦敦的）行政区( borough的名词复数 )； 议会中有代表的市镇 | |
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138
aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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139
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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140
sculpt
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| n.雕刻，雕塑，雕刻品，雕塑品 | |
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141
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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142
mimicking
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的现在分词 )；酷似 | |
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143
ebullient
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| adj.兴高采烈的，奔放的 | |
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144
winks
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| v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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145
grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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146
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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147
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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148
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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