Leslie Carroll - Play Dates

PlayDates

Leslie Carroll

For Irene

My deepest thanks to Carrie Feron and Lucia Macro at Avon Books for their creative and incisive editorial vision, and to my wonderful agent Irene Goodman for her constant inspiration; to my dear friend Gail Matos for being my daily correspondent, cheerleader, and constant lifeline to the rest of the world during the writing of this book; to Rebecca Scarpati, Joan Sloser, Jan Leslie Harding, and most especially to my sister Nicole Gruen-stein for sharing their maternal wisdom and humor; to Bruce Belland for his generosity, despite the fact that his lyric ended up on the cutting room floor; to den farrier for putting me in touch with Bruce as well as for his myriad wonderful insights; to Brian Vinero, NYC tour guide extraordinaire; a wink to Sakamoto-san; and a nod to my late grandfather Carroll Carroll.

He knows why.

Contents

Zo, honey, please put those down. Youre only six years 1

Well, Zos been in school for a full week and

My kid sister has become an inspiration. Her search for

To save some money, I take the subway up to

You are coming here for Thanksgiving, sweetheart?

my mother asks,

Dont kill me, Claire. I cant do it. This afternoon

My mother doesnt have a malicious fiber in her body.

There was a police emergency in the subwaywhich usually means

I feel like Ive done nothing but shop. And I

Its been a great few days. I love having a

Theres snow on the sidewalk and checkered tablecloths on the

Its always something with you Marsh girls, isnt it? This

My feet are killing me. Im walking in the door

Im not a joinerthats not my thingbut like the right-handed

I cant believe Claire met a guy! That didnt come

Oh. My. God.

Bleh. The temperature in the room is over a hundred

For the first time in my life, Im scared to

Claire, are you sitting down? Im getting married!

Its like pirate treasure! I cant speak for Zo, but

If someone wanted to give me a gift, completely out

Who would have thought my job would be relaxing? By 321

Why the hell did I say Id do this?! Backstage

June is a lot like Christmastime. Everything winds down and

Once we get to the Thackeray auditorium, I ask my

SEPTEMBER

Zo, honey, please put those down. Youre only six years old.

Im six and three-quarters.

Im sorry, sweetie. Six and three-quarters. Yes, youre a big girl, now. Still, you cant wear high heels to second grade.

I want to look like MiMi.

Youll have plenty of time to look like your aunt MiMi, I cajole. Believe me, you dont want to rush growing up.

Yes, I do.

Weve been hunting for the perfect pair of school shoes for up-wards of half an hour. My linen dress is clinging to my body like a limp dishrag. This has to be the hottest Labor Day on record. You could fry an egg in the middle of Broadway. Its so muggy outside that we could ha

waded

ve

up to Harrys Shoes, which must be the craziest place in the city to have to visit on the last shopping day before school starts. Its mayhem in here. The decibel level is even worse than a Saturday afternoon at PlaySpace. Honestly, I dont know how the salespeople cope. The management must give them a free hit of Prozac when they punch their time card.

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Leslie Carroll

I think the mothers and merchants of New York City will breathe a collective sigh of relief tomorrow. I sure know I could use a break. Ive spent every day this summer with Zo. Its the first time Ive ever had to care for her 24/7. I lost both husband and housekeeper in the divorce. Hilda had been Scotts mothers housekeeper at one point, so her loyalty was to the Franklins. Ive had no one to pick up the slack, so I could catch a catnap, find twenty minutes for a manicure, orGod forbid

go to lunch with a girlfriend.

Zo, looking like a wilted daisy, comes over to me complain-ing of the heat and humidity. Im sticky, she gripes, pushing limp bangs off her forehead with a grubby hand. I open my bag, whip out a Washn Dri, mop her brow, wipe her hands, and pin up her hair with an elastic and a clip.

Blow, Zo says, and I purse my lips and generate a gentle Mommy breeze, cooling the nape of her neck and her face.

Brimming with purpose and bustle, a tall woman with one of those year-round tans, forty-something and looks it, practically tramples a knot of preschoolers to get to me. Shes nearly out of breath. Who do you work for? she asks abruptly.

I dont understand, I reply, caught completely by surprise.

Ive been watching you from across the room, she says. Im sorry. I thought you spoke English. I wanted to know who you work for.

Who do I work for? Im still not getting it. Maybe the intense heat of the day has baked my brain.

The woman slips into the cadences one uses when they think theyre speaking to someone either dreadfully hard of hearing or from a country whose gross national income wouldnt cover the cost of an August sublet in the Hamptons. Its so hard to find someone whoyou knowwell, speaks English. And is well-groomedandyoure so good with the little girl. She unsnaps her Fendi baguette and withdraws a slim leather card case. If youre ever unhappy with your present situation, please PLAY DATES

3

do consider giving me a call. Xander isnt much of a handful.

She points out a small boy about Zos age with an unruly mop of brown curls, banging together two Yao Ming-size Timber-lands as if theyre a pair of orchestra cymbals.

Oh, good Lord. I get it now. You think Im an au pair, dont you? I ask the older woman. She looks so smug, I decide that the most delicious way to set her straight is through indirect communication. Besides, a smartass remark just isnt me. My sister Mia is the one who excels at the witty rejoinder. Zo, sweetie, please lets settle on something. Mommys going to pass out in a few minutes if we dont get away from this crowd. The child has a way of totally zoning out for some reason whenever we go to a shoe store. I guess its why I postponed the school-shoe shopping expedition until the last possible moment.

Im trying not to let her see how exasperated I am that what should have been a half-hour excursion is turning into a day trip. And in this heat its not easy. Ever since her father left, I feel guilty when I get angry or lose patience with her. The divorce was rough on both of us and Im unused to being the dis-ciplinarian. More than that, Im uncomfortable with it. My own parents are uncharacteristically non-neurotic. Actually, I suppose their loopy progressiveness is their own form of dys-function, and not having grown up in a strict household, I havent a clue how to run one, even when discipline is clearly called for.

My now-ex-husband Scott was able to handle his dot-com CFO responsibilities from home much of the time, so while I took a full course load at Columbia and got my bachelors degree in art history during Zos first four years, it was Scott who heard our daughter say her first word (Da) and whose hands she let go of when she took her first cautious, halting, baby steps. Zo worships her father and has been blaming me for the divorce, even though it was Scott who decided to walk away from the marriage several months ago.

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Leslie Carroll

My cell phone vibrates. Its my friend Sue. Where are you?

she demands accusingly.

Well, no reason for her to cop an attitude, just because we havent been in touch for a while! What have I done to her?