Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I’ve got the three balls in the air in a reverse cascade now as I continue to draw her out. It’s pretty impressive actually. At least, the painters who’ve stopped working to watch me seem to think so. Lifestyle Leona looks confused.
“We are the best. And our nannies—whether they’re he, she or they—have never received a valid complaint or had their professionalism called into question since we opened our doors. In fact, I’m a little insulted at your inference, and I’d be interested to see where those statistics you tossed out came from. Particularly the date they were first issued, because it sounds like something that might have been true back in the eighties, before either one of us was born.”
I end with a flourish, catching the last ball behind my back. “I think you should give your readers more credit for keeping up with the times, Leona. And speaking of the time, I have to get back to work now. As you can see, we’re still bare bones at the moment, and there’s a lot to do. I’ll make sure to thank your editor, personally, for the paper’s interest and your professionalism.”
The three painters give me a standing ovation as the red-faced Leona nearly bolts toward the elevator. I look at them and bow. “Thank you. I’ll be here all week.”
I might have taken that too far, but she deserved it for trying to sniff out a scandal.
“Mannygate my ass,” I mutter, striding back to the office to pick up my cell phone and type out a text to my partner in crime.
J-Pop: I think the interview went well. I’m so glad I agreed to it.
T-Diddy: Uh-oh. Were you nervous juggling again?
J-Pop: You can’t prove anything. I’ll call you later.
Right now, I need some fresh air. Maybe we can blame that on the paint fumes? Or maybe this will finally earn me that new nickname I’ve been longing for. Instead of The Babysitter, I’ll be The Juggler.
There’s always a bright side if you look hard enough.
***
I spent the rest of the day working from my phone, touching base with a few of my managers who requested relocation to join me at the new office and looking over the status reports all our childcare workers are required to submit on a regular basis.
I might have also taught a painter how to do a simple trick for his daughter when he got home tonight. Kids love juggling.
After requesting a car, because I won’t have the driver reserved for me until tomorrow, I think about that follow-up call from Leona. She must have let her editor hear the interview, because she was almost overly effusive and apologetic for making any inferences about my company’s professionalism.
And of course, there were a few extra questions, all easier to manage and oddly complimentary.
I almost laugh at the last one, where she wondered how I feel about a certain actor playing Mr. Rogers in the upcoming movie. Apparently I’m “very photogenic” and several of the clients she’s interviewed have mentioned that I’m Mr. Rogers’ modern-day equivalent and should have my own show.
For the record, if I wanted to do a kids’ show I’d be great at it. There’d be CGI instead of puppets, and I’d get my pianist brother to compose the intro. Matilda could be our friendly neighborhood civil rights attorney and teach my audience all about bias training and misogyny in the work force.
The ratings would be off the hook, but I’m supposed to be taking things off my plate now, not the other way around.
But I’m in favor of the movie’s casting. Perfect choice.
“Thank you, Mr. Redmond. And once again, I apologize for our earlier miscommunication.”
“Call me Joey. I can’t fault you for doing your job.” Well, I could and did, but I’m feeling more magnanimous at the moment.
“I appreciate that, Joey. Since our interview is officially over, I was wondering if you’d like to go out for dinner sometime this week. I can be your unofficial tour guide. I think it’s safe to say not many people know this city better than I do.”
And now it’s awkward. Not because she isn’t attractive or doesn’t seem lovely when she isn’t trying to shock her way into the lurid underworld of the tabloids.
Unfortunately, she doesn’t have a penis. That’s an instant deal breaker from my end. “Thank you for the offer, Leona, but I’ve recently ended a long-term relationship with my ex-boyfriend, and I’m focused on settling in and getting the office up and running. You understand.”
“Okay, I’m embarrassed,” she says with a chuckle. “But I appreciate your honesty and your interview. For the record, I can still be an entertaining tour guide once you get settled in, so the offer stands.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
When I hang up, I can only hope that Mr. Rogers question isn’t added to the final print. I’ll be getting cardigans and hand puppets from my brothers and my bff for the rest of my natural life.