At first I thought the director’s ailment might be stress-related. He complained that the star of his film--a gentleman with a well-publicized history of "eccentric behavior" (code for major drug habit)--had just gotten out of rehab. The star was medicated beyond the ability to give the necessary high-powered, comic performance. Worse yet, whenever the director took the star aside to give him notes, the star’s posse came along, vetoing all his suggestions.
Anyway, I figured out that his nausea, vomiting, etc. started when he commenced an affair with a Puerto Rican tranny named Jezebel, whom he was keeping in a hotel room adjacent to his own and who was dressing the director up in diapers and feeding him milk from a bottle. I suspected the director’s ailments were due to lactose intolerance, so I told Jezebel to give him soy milk instead. Problem solved!
When I got home, Nanny was standing inside the door wearing a yellow sari and a frown. “Why gone so long, Master Charles?” she said sternly. “Do you know that you missed your daughter’s Show & Tell yesterday? I went in your place and made up a lie about your absence. I told them you had jury duty. But the teacher, Miss Feather, didn't believe me. I don’t think she likes you very much! She wants to have another meeting with you.”
“I had no choice," I said. "Working is the way I keep this household together (code for lay off). How did Meryl's presentation go? Has Myron come by? He doesn’t answer my texts. His producers’ meeting is this afternoon.”
“Haven't heard from him,” said Nanny, wringing a hand towel like it was my neck. “And Meryl’s Show & Tell went very well for her, but even better for you.”
“What do you mean by that?” I said.
“She recited a poem in French that I taught her. It was by Verlaine. I was so proud of her! While all the other children had brought their parents' Golden Globes and AA medallions, Meryl brought a poem.”
“And so, why did this go better for me?” I asked.
“Well, I’ll translate for you from the French. The poem goes: ‘Here are some fruits, some flowers and some leaves…’ As she mentioned each object she took it out of her Madame Chocolat box. She took out a tangerine, a daisy and then a twig.”
“Yeah, so?” I said.
“The next line was: 'and here is my heart, that beats only for you.' When she said the word, heart, she took from her box a diamond as big as a pine cone and--”
“She’s got the diamonds?!” I said. “But you put them out by the curb!”
“She had found them and was keeping them under her bed.”
“She found them? And nobody looked under her bed for a whole week? Aren't you supposed to search your kid's room regularly for dope?”
“She’s only five years old,” said Nanny. “And she’s your child, not mine.”
I texted Myron: “Found diamonds.”
He texted me: “Thank God!” (code for Thank God!)
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Photo: Craig Russell
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