Marcy Dermansky - Bad Marie (P.S.)

Sometimes, Marie got a little drunk at work.

She took care of Caitlin, the precocious two-and-a-half-year-old daughter of her friend Ellen Kendall. It was a full-time job. Marie got paid in cash and was given a room in the basement.

She never drank in the daytime. Only at night. Marie didnt see the harm: a little whiskey, a little chocolate. Marie liked to watch bad movies on TV while Caitlin slept. She liked wandering over to the fully stocked refrigerator and helping herself to whatever she wanted to eat. Marie constantly marveled over the food: French cheeses, leftover steak, fresh-squeezed orange juice, raspberries imported from Portugal. It had only been three weeks since Maries thirtieth birthday, the day that she had gotten out of jail.

The situation would have been humiliating had Marie any ambition in life. Fortunately, Marie was not in any way ambitious. Changing diapers and making lunch, taking Caitlin out for walks to the neighborhood parkthese were things that Marie could do. Marie liked living in Manhattan. She liked listening to the lilted banter of the other nannies from the neighborhood, mainly black women from the West Indies. Marie even liked the educational TV she watched with Caitlin. Sesame Street was just Maries speed. She often napped during Caitlins afternoon naptimes.

Marie, who hadnt felt much of any emotion since her boyfriend had killed himself in prison nearly six years ago, found herself crazy in love with a two-and-a-half-year-old girl. It unnerved Marie, how strongly she felt. Smitten. They both loved chocolate pudding and macaroni and cheese from the box above all other foods. They could not take enough baths. Caitlin was bossy, but that suited Marie fine. Marie often felt herself in need of a leader.

Marie was pleasantly drunk the night Ellen and her French husband came home from the theater and found Marie passed out in the bathtub. She had put Caitlin to sleep and was watching bad television, a movie about a sexy teenaged babysitter. First the babysitter drugged the mother, then she seduced the father, and at the moment when Caitlin started to scream, she was chasing the daughter through the house, wielding a kitchen knife.

Marie. Marie, Marie, Marie!

Marie ran as fast as she could to Caitlins room, crashing into an end table on the way, breaking a ceramic vase, afraid of everything: an intruder with a gun, a poisonous spider beneath the sheets, a monster in the closet. A raging fever. Knife-wielding babysitters.

But nothing was wrong.

Caitlin wanted to take a bath.

You arent sick? Marie said, out of breath, trembling.

You forgot my bath. Caitlin was standing up in her crib, holding on to the bars as if she were ready to revolt. I feel sticky. I want my bath.

Caitlin was red from screaming. Marie was shaking with anger. Relief. She lifted Caitlin from the crib and discovered that the little girl was, in fact, sticky. Not only sticky, but visibly dirty. Her face was smeared with chocolate ice cream; they had eaten soft serve earlier that day. Marie put her finger on Caitlins round, hot cheek.

We forgot your bath?

Though Marie was paid to take care of Caitlin, she often felt that Caitlin was looking after her. Marie always felt guilty for the things she did wrong. Every day there was some small new mistake to make, but so far, there had been no consequences. Marie smiled, feeling Caitlins sturdy legs lock around her.

Im sorry, Caty Cat. You need a bath.

I want a bath, Caitlin said.

Good, Marie said. So do I.

Marie carried Caitlin to the bathroom, passing through the living room to reclaim her drink, momentarily glancing at the TV set. The teenage babysitter, still wielding her knife, promised not to kill the girl if she came out of the closet. Marie continued walking; it was bath time, better than TV. Caitlin made happy gurgling sounds, pounding Maries back like it was a drum.

Marie ran the water, Caitlin at her side, watching the water fill the tub.

Bubbles, Caitlin said.

Yes. Bubbles.

Marie generously poured Ellens French lavender bubble bath beneath the running faucet. This was a secret between Marie and Caitlin; Ellen thought bubbles were bad for Caitlins skin. When the tub was almost full, she took off Caitlins damp white nightgown. Marie took a sip of what still remained of her drink, raised naked Caitlin high into the air from her armpits, and then dipped the bottom of Caitlins feet into the water.

Too hot, Caitlin said.

Marie nodded. This was part of their routine. Marie turned off the hot faucet, ran in only cold water, and then she lowered Caitlin back down.

Better? Marie said.

Yes.

Caitlin grinned. Caitlin was happy when she got her way. She seemed to get her way most of the time. She would probably grow up into a disaster of a person: confident, arrogant, entitledjust like Ellen. Maybe, Marie thought, that was not entirely a bad thing.

Lets try again, Kit Kat.

Marie lowered Caitlin back down into the tub. This time all the way in. Soon she would run more hot water. Marie was able to trick Caitlin this way every time. Caitlin reached for a yellow rubber duck and promptly smashed it over the head of another rubber duck. The tub was filled with bath toys.

So violent, Marie observed.

Marie took off her clothes and got in, lying back against the opposite end. She reached for her drink. She took a deep sip of whiskey. She closed her eyes.

Quack, she heard Caitlin say. Quack quack quack.

It occurred to Marie that she was, at that particular moment in time, happy. Happy. There werent many times when Marie could remember feeling this way. Swimming in the ocean during those short, wonderful months in Mexico with Juan Jos. Making love. Taking walks under the stars. Planning their future, together. The babies they wanted to have. Marie had felt her life was exactly what it was supposed to be.

Marie was happy. It wasnt complicated. All it took was a bath. Caty Bean.

She opened her eyes, looked at naked Caitlin.

Hi Caitlin, she said.

This duck is so bad, Marie, Caitlin said.

Get the duck, Marie said. She felt the lids of her eyes slide back shut.

Bad duck, Caitlin said.

Bad, Marie said. Very bad.

Marie must have fallen asleep in the bath. She had not heard them come in, Ellen and her French husband, but somehow they were standing in the bathroom, fully dressed, staring. Ellens mouth was open wide. She had those perfect teeth, the result of years of expensive orthodontics.

They were a stylish couple. Benot Doniel was wearing a dark striped suit. His blue tie matched the color of Ellens shimmery dress. Benot Doniel was looking at Marie, looking at her naked. Benot Doniel. Marie loved to say his name in her head. Benot Doniel. Benot Doniel. Benot Doniel. It tasted good in her mouth, like chocolate. Like chocolate dipped in whiskey.

Since she had begun babysitting, Marie had managed to avoid contact with her employers husband. Three weeks and not a single straight-on gaze. Benot Doniel was not strikingly attractive. But he was sweet and sexy in a funny, self-deprecating kind of way. He wasnt tall; quite possibly he was short. Marie seemed to tower above him. His sandy brown hair fell into his eyes. He had also written Maries absolute favorite novel in the world, Virginie at Sea , about a suicidal teenage girl who falls in love with a sick sea lion at the zoo.

Marie had kept her ardent love of Benots out-of-print book a secret. She had discovered a translated edition of the novel in the prison library. Shed read it again and again. Sometimes she would force herself to wait a day, sometimes two, and then Marie would start all over.