I didn’t know Jill. “I’m happily out of the loop, Claudia.”

“Jill, the whitest, spunkiest, most impressive nanny ever in the history of nannies. Anna Brody’s Jill. Rumored-to-be-receiving-a-six-figure-salary Jill. The same Jill who had been once, most notably, the live-in nanny to billionaire Ronald Perelman’s daughter Caleigh and also the nanny to the children of a very famous Hollywood couple with Scientologist affiliations. Jill whom Dan the Bear described as ‘the Julie Andrews of nannies.’ ”

“Okay, Claudia,” I said, stirring my drink. “I get the picture.”

“Well, guess who had these miniature high-tech video cameras installed all through her eighteen-room house?”

“Anna Brody.”

“Yes. Isn’t that terrible?”

“Videotaping the nanny? Not if you have reason to believe there’s something wrong going on.”

Claudia told me what the videotape had revealed. Jill was bright, attentive, creative at free play, that Sophie especially loved Jill’s story about the swans. Apparently, Jill was firm when necessary but never cruel, never raised her voice, never shamed, often sang beautifully to Sophie, and was teaching her how to count in French.

“So what’s the problem?”

“Anna fired her.”

“On what grounds?”

“No one knows. But my theory? Maybe she felt a wee bit threatened. You see, if Jill were to stick around, Sophie would never be happy with Anna.”

“That’s awful.”

“Not for Jill. She got her whole year’s salary for just two weeks of babysitting. Not bad work, if you can get it.”

I didn’t know what parts of this story to believe. I wasn’t about to call Anna and ask her myself. The very next day, however, and new to her role as a nannyless mother, Anna Brody called me instead. I was surprised she knew where to reach me. Then I remembered having given her my work number, probably with the thought that she’d never call.

“Is this a good time?” Anna asked.

“Yes, it’s a good time.”

I can’t remember the reason for those first calls: activity suggestions, maybe directions to the Children’s Museum, it didn’t matter. The conversations were brief and, individually, no big deal. For weeks I’d wanted to be this kind of girlfriend to Anna Brody—her confidante, advice giver, favorite friend—and how unfortunate that when she finally showed an interest, I no longer had the time. Still, it wasn’t until the fourth call that day that I might have sounded impatient with her.

“Me again,” Anna said. “Is it still a good time?”

“Yes. Well, actually, I’m kind of busy . . .”

In the background, I could hear Sophie crying.

“Well, then,” Anna said quickly, “I was just wondering if your boys could come over for a playdate.”

“Ask Tim. That’s his domain.”

“I thought I should ask you first.”

“No need. Just give him a call.”

“Oh,” she said after an odd pause, “I just didn’t want you to feel left out.”