You'll Never Nanny in This Town Again: The True Adventures of a Hollywood Nanny by Suzanne Hansen

Author:Suzanne Hansen [Hansen, Suzanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780307237682
Amazon: 0307237680
Publisher: Three Rivers Press
Published: 2006-12-26T00:00:00+00:00

I decided that if the traits of a cranky LA coattail-rider were rubbing off on me, I could at least pick up some of the highbrow cultural trappings as well. I vowed to learn at least a little about the art that practically wallpapered the house. The lines and squiggles confounded me, and I constantly twisted my head at different angles, trying to find something familiar in the dozens of abstract paintings: a dog, a vase, a tree, anything recognizable. Michael kept a stack of art books on the table in the living room, and I sometimes thumbed through the pages hoping to soak up something. One day I saw a picture of the very same painting that was hanging in the living room. No! It couldn’t be, could it? This silly-looking picture—of nothing I could come close to identifying—might cost millions of dollars. The next morning, the construction foreman, Carl, came in to use the phone. (An endless supply of these workers roamed in and out of the house every day, doing exactly what, I never did figure out. Mostly small projects such as the ones Oregon husbands tended to do on weekends; but Michael was not the kind of husband I was used to back in Oregon.) Carl was only a few years older than me, a chatty and friendly guy. This gig paid his way through college.

“Michael’s art collection is really something,” he commented, coming into the room after his call and staring at the wall. “Wow. That’s a Picasso. Is it a copy?”

“No, that’s the real deal,” I chimed in confidently, having just boned up on the subject. I motioned for him to come closer. “Look, can you see that streak of paint?” I asked as I touched the canvas.

WAAA! WAAA! WAAA! Oops. A shrill alarm sounded, like the car version I set off when Kristi visited. Only a hundred times louder. I clapped my hands over my ears. It was so loud that Carmen came running out of the kitchen howling, frantically waving her arms in the air. “Miss Soo-zita, it is the Picasso alarm, oh my.”

I couldn’t think.

“Miss Soo-zita, you must call Mr. Ovitz.”

He’ll kill me. But at least the horrible racket would stop. I ran to the relative quiet of the other side of the house to make the call. I dialed frantically. Was the phone even ringing? Or was that just the alarm echoing in my ears?

Oh my God, I thought, they’ll never answer. They’ve probably got a hundred calls backed up, as usual.

“CAA,” one of the receptionists finally answered.

“I need Sarah in Michael’s office!” I screamed. “Right now!” The still-shrieking horn slowed down our discussion, but finally she transferred me to Sarah.

“Suzy? I can hardly hear you,” Sarah said. She never got too riled up about anything. “Is that the Picasso alarm?” she asked calmly.

“Yes!” I shrieked. “It won’t stop!”

“Oh, don’t worry, Michael’s not here,” she said smoothly, with the practiced air of someone who’d been through this before. “Just wait for the security company to call.

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