Page 2 of Third Time Lucky

It’s not as if I don’t know how to do it. I juggle and I have a trampoline in my office. Does that strike you as someone who doesn’t know how to have fun? I’m Mr. Fun.

Despite their best efforts to snap me out of my micro-managing tendencies with a prescription of R&R, the office here was nonnegotiable for me, which means so is this interview.

I have to be involved with the initial phases at the very least. And even though most of our meetings, scheduling and communications are now online, this is a new market. Parents need to be able to look us in the eye to assure themselves we’re a real agency with real people that they can entrust with their children. Framed degrees and certifications are a must. Especially if they’ve been professionally matted.

The trampoline, and the bouncy castle that hasn’t arrived yet, are both for me. Because really, what’s more relaxing than a good bounce?

I might have some issues.

She doesn’t look too happy with my answer, but she’s also not ready to give up on her line of questioning. “What you’ve done for Noah Finn is laudable, and in line with the generosity and kindness your previous clients have continuously praised you for. Parents love you and your services, Mr. Redmond. And you’ve managed something others in the childcare industry have thus far been unable to with any equivalent success, with regards to gender equality in your hiring.”

“Is there a question in there, Leona?” There is. And I have a feeling I’m not going to like it.

She cuts to the chase. “You do have a large number of male nannies in your employ, comparatively speaking. It’s one of the reasons you’re considered newsworthy. As a gimmick, it’s effective, but statistically, I think you’ll agree parents feel more comfortable leaving their children alone with a female caregiver. What’s your response to any of my readers who might be wondering if you’re catering to a specific, shall we say, single mother clientele? Are you at all worried about a Mannygate scenario?”

Fuck offis my first, unspoken response. While I admit to having a few issues, I am fantastic at my job. It is personal to me. Unlike most of my brothers, I remember my biological father. I also know what it’s like to be given, even temporarily, to the wrong people.

This makes me uniquely qualified for talent scouting. I actively seek out and hire only the most well-vetted, thoroughly qualified and utterly committed caregivers to work at J&T. Finding the right people to protect and educate our clients’ children is not a gimmick for me. It’s the goal.

“I suppose my answer would be that while I applaud and even encourage skepticism when it comes to finding the right caretaker for their child, I would ask that any of my potential clients think less about the gender of their nanny and more about the qualifications and temperaments that would best suit their families and lifestyles.”

Her eyes widen in surprise as I start to juggle right in front of her. I turn and take my show on the road, slowly walking out of the office so she’ll have to follow me if she wants to get me on the record. “If you’ve checked out my previous client list as you claim, you would have noticed that it boasts both mothers who fly planes into combat and fathers who have transitioned. We have single parents, married parents and those who are, in Facebook parlance, complicated. J&T has no prejudices or preconceptions and only one requirement when it comes to offering our services to a potential client. Do they want the best for their child?”

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.

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