Read Online Kramer vs. Kramer by Avery Corman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Avery Corman
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immense Puerto Rican woman, who conceivably had an agent representing her, since she had such a suitable ad, and an Anglo name like Roberts, while she spoke barely understandable English.
“I work weeth maynee Spaneesh deefomads.”
“I see,” he said, to be polite.
“Maynee Spaneesh esecutees.”
The plot thickened.
“Well, I have one little boy.”
“Your womeen?”
“Vamoosed.”
“Loco,” she said.
She pinched him on the cheek heartily, a real pinch. He could not make out whether it was an editorial pinch or a sexual pinch, but it hurt.
“You’ve taken care of children?”
“I haff six baybies. Puerto Rico. The Bronx. The baybi-est, tweynty-two. He enyinee.”
If Mrs. Roberts were employed, Ted figured Billy would be speaking Spanish by age five.
“You cude.”
“Excuse me?”
“You cude peerson.”
She was either making an improper advance or her agent had recommended the lusty approach. In any case, further inquiry revealed Mrs. Roberts was not even free immediately. She was going on “vacaytion” to Puerto Rico, where her husband currently worked for a “deefomad.” By the time she had left, Ted figured out that deefomad was diplomat, esecutee was executive, enyinee he guessed was enyinee, and Mrs. Roberts was a cude peerson, but he had not found a Mary Popeens.
He contacted other employment agencies, followed the newspaper listings and unearthed a few “live-out” housekeepers, an attractive Jamaican lady with a lilting voice Ted would have liked to read him to sleep or other things, but who was available only for the summer, a stern lady who appeared for the interview in a starched white uniform and a starched face, a retired English nanny, who said several generations of children called her Nanny, but she wasn’t up to full-time any longer—could she work two and a half days a week?—and an Irish lady with a heavy brogue who terminated the interview on her own by severely criticizing Ted for permitting his wife to leave, the woman having clearly lost the drift. Mrs. Colby called and said she would make it her life’s mission to find the right person for Ted within hours, since she had taken a personal interest in Ted’s case, owing to his wife’s unfortunate demise, somehow having gotten Joanna’s notation mixed up with your highway fatalities and your drownings kind of thing.
Mrs. Colby sent him four people, one in the $125 range, of which the lady informed him immediately and did he have a cook? Another, a dizzily absent-minded woman who seemed quite pleasant but who forgot she had taken on another job beginning in August. A plump woman who giggled and who seemed as if she might do, except she called back to say she got a live-in for more money. And a Swedish woman named Mrs. Larson who found the place too dirty for her liking, which made Ted uncomfortable, since he had carefully swept and mopped so that no Swedish woman would find it too dirty for her liking.
He was thinking about placing his own ad in the newspaper, but did not want to open himself up to the crazies at large. Instead, he taped a sign on what was the community bulletin board, a wall in the supermarket across the street. “Housekeeper wanted, 9 to 6. Nice family.” He had heard this often enough. “I only work for nice families.” He got one call from a Mrs. Etta Willewska, who said she lived in the neighborhood and had not done this work in a while but was interested. She was a short, wide Polish woman with a cherubic face, inappropriately dressed for her interview in what seemed to be her best dress, a black formal outfit. Her accent was slight; she and her husband had been citizens for thirty years, she said proudly. They had a married son. She had been a housekeeper for many years, then worked for the most part in industrial laundries. Her husband worked in a factory in Long Island City. She thought it would be good to work for a nice family again. She then asked Ted a question. It was
“I work weeth maynee Spaneesh deefomads.”
“I see,” he said, to be polite.
“Maynee Spaneesh esecutees.”
The plot thickened.
“Well, I have one little boy.”
“Your womeen?”
“Vamoosed.”
“Loco,” she said.
She pinched him on the cheek heartily, a real pinch. He could not make out whether it was an editorial pinch or a sexual pinch, but it hurt.
“You’ve taken care of children?”
“I haff six baybies. Puerto Rico. The Bronx. The baybi-est, tweynty-two. He enyinee.”
If Mrs. Roberts were employed, Ted figured Billy would be speaking Spanish by age five.
“You cude.”
“Excuse me?”
“You cude peerson.”
She was either making an improper advance or her agent had recommended the lusty approach. In any case, further inquiry revealed Mrs. Roberts was not even free immediately. She was going on “vacaytion” to Puerto Rico, where her husband currently worked for a “deefomad.” By the time she had left, Ted figured out that deefomad was diplomat, esecutee was executive, enyinee he guessed was enyinee, and Mrs. Roberts was a cude peerson, but he had not found a Mary Popeens.
He contacted other employment agencies, followed the newspaper listings and unearthed a few “live-out” housekeepers, an attractive Jamaican lady with a lilting voice Ted would have liked to read him to sleep or other things, but who was available only for the summer, a stern lady who appeared for the interview in a starched white uniform and a starched face, a retired English nanny, who said several generations of children called her Nanny, but she wasn’t up to full-time any longer—could she work two and a half days a week?—and an Irish lady with a heavy brogue who terminated the interview on her own by severely criticizing Ted for permitting his wife to leave, the woman having clearly lost the drift. Mrs. Colby called and said she would make it her life’s mission to find the right person for Ted within hours, since she had taken a personal interest in Ted’s case, owing to his wife’s unfortunate demise, somehow having gotten Joanna’s notation mixed up with your highway fatalities and your drownings kind of thing.
Mrs. Colby sent him four people, one in the $125 range, of which the lady informed him immediately and did he have a cook? Another, a dizzily absent-minded woman who seemed quite pleasant but who forgot she had taken on another job beginning in August. A plump woman who giggled and who seemed as if she might do, except she called back to say she got a live-in for more money. And a Swedish woman named Mrs. Larson who found the place too dirty for her liking, which made Ted uncomfortable, since he had carefully swept and mopped so that no Swedish woman would find it too dirty for her liking.
He was thinking about placing his own ad in the newspaper, but did not want to open himself up to the crazies at large. Instead, he taped a sign on what was the community bulletin board, a wall in the supermarket across the street. “Housekeeper wanted, 9 to 6. Nice family.” He had heard this often enough. “I only work for nice families.” He got one call from a Mrs. Etta Willewska, who said she lived in the neighborhood and had not done this work in a while but was interested. She was a short, wide Polish woman with a cherubic face, inappropriately dressed for her interview in what seemed to be her best dress, a black formal outfit. Her accent was slight; she and her husband had been citizens for thirty years, she said proudly. They had a married son. She had been a housekeeper for many years, then worked for the most part in industrial laundries. Her husband worked in a factory in Long Island City. She thought it would be good to work for a nice family again. She then asked Ted a question. It was
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