Raising Renata
Renata set her vanity mirror up on the dresser and talked earnestly into it. “I’m not sure about that Christy Hayes,” she said. “First she acts like nothing scares her. But then, did you see the way she was when she had to pose with that snake? She completely freaked out. I think her being afraid of performing with a boa constrictor around her neck will ruin her chances. I really don’t think Christy Hayes is cut out to be America’s next…top…model.”
Renata heard a knock at the door and she stopped talking. “Come in,” she said, turning away from the mirror-camera.
Eve poked her head through the doorway. “Christy’s waiting for you in the library with your new nanny. Better get going.”
“Sure,” Renata said, irritated that her segment of America’s Next Top Model was interrupted for this. She tramped through the apartment, determined that everyone in her path should know her feelings about getting a nanny.
She peeked into Michael’s library looking for Christy and this nanny person. The library was the only room in the whole apartment that she liked, because it was full of books and folk art—none of that hard glass or marble stuff. Queen Latifah was standing next to the computer desk deep in conversation with Christy. Renata was speechless. Would Christy hire someone that famous just to take care of her? Maybe Christy did want her. Then she realized that a star as big as Queen Latifah wouldn’t want to be a nanny, not even part time. It must be Queen Latifah’s sister.
“That’s all right. I’m just sorry I couldn’t be here Friday like Eve asked,” the nanny was saying. “I had sad business in Montgomery. I been nursing my sister through breast cancer for the last year. She died two weeks ago, and there was odds and ends to take care of, more than I thought.”
“Queen Latifah?” Renata asked, shocked.
Both women turned and saw Renata standing in the doorway.
“Who?” the nanny asked.
“Your sister. Queen Latifah?” Renata said.
“No, Ambrosia Freedom. Two weeks shy of fifty-seven years old, and the Lord saw fit to take her, mmm-mmm-mmm. By the way, I’m Nectar Freedom. What’s your name?”
“I’m Renata Ruiz.” Renata walked in and shook Nectar’s hand. “Sorry you lost your sister.”
Nectar looked deeply into the little girl’s eyes. “Thank you, dumplin’. And I want you to know how terrible I feel that you lost your grandma. Eve told me all about it, mmm-mmm-mmm, you poor child.” The way Nectar said it, it sounded like “you po chall.”
Renata soaked in the sympathy. She felt like crawling in between Nectar’s humongous bosoms, curling up into a little ball, and crying herself dry. “Thank you,” she mumbled. “Have you ever been a nanny before?”
“I have. I took care of J. R. Collins for ten years and then Marissa Ethridge till she was thirteen.”
“The singer?”
“No, the child.”
“I’m self-independent,” Renata said. “I don’t need a nanny.”
“Well, that makes my job easier,” Nectar said. “I can catch up on my reading while you’re taking care of yourself.”
Renata turned to Christy. “Do you have any questions?”
“I think you’re doing a fine job on your own,” Christy said, smiling.
“How old are you?” Renata asked Nectar.
“That’s not a legal question to ask me, dumplin’. But I’ll tell you anyway ’cause I like you. I’m fifty-nine years young.”
Renata giggled; then she became solemn. “My grandma was fifty-nine when she passed.”
“And that’s too young to go. Course, ‘he that cuts off twenty years of life cuts off so many years of fearing death.’ That’s a direct quote from Mr. William Shakespeare,” Nectar said.
“Is that who you used to work for?” Renata asked.
“No, no,” Nectar said, smiling. “Shakespeare was a famous writer from about four hundred years ago.”
“Is it okay if I go to my room? I’m tired.”
“Sure,” Christy said. Renata said good-bye and ran to her bedroom.
Christy shook her head as she watched Renata disappear. “She spends way too much time alone.”
“Doesn’t she have friends?” Nectar asked.
“Not around here. Not yet, anyway,” Christy said. She looked into Nectar’s friendly eyes and imagined how painful the last year of caring for her dying sister must have been. She sensed that Nectar somehow needed them as much as they needed her. “Did Eve tell you the circumstances of our getting Renata? Did she mention that my husband and I travel a lot for business?”
“Eve told me everything.”
“You’ll be working plenty of overtime, I’d guess. Of course, you’ll have Eve’s full support for anything you need. And there’s a maid, a chef, a driver. And I’m looking for a psychiatrist so Renata’ll have someone to talk to. This has got to be hard for her.”
“Even with all that help, I believe I can do as much for Renata as I can for you.”
“I know you can,” Christy said, giving Nectar a hug. Nectar reminded her of Maria—warm and loving, but formidable at the same time. “Now, I must get to the office. I haven’t been there in weeks, and I’m dying to get back in the saddle.”
“‘To business that we love we rise betime and go to it with delight,’” Nectar quoted.
“Shakespeare?” Christy asked.
“Yes, Antony and Cleopatra. I just love that William Shakespeare,” Nectar said, chuckling. “He had such a way with words.”
“Maybe you can teach Renata to love him, too.”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
“Eve’ll be here in a few minutes to show you the drill. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“Don’t you worry about Nectar Freedom, darlin’. You just scoot. Go to work. And don’t give Renata a second thought.”
Don’t give Renata a second thought. Those were the most beautiful words Christy had heard in a long time. But five seconds after the wave
