Breakfast At Tiffany's

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« Topless Girly-Girl Stuff | Home | Virgin Fiction »

I Saw Jason Alexander Naked

Part of: Hollywood , LA , Seinfeld-esque , Television

Breakfast: Spega Decaf Low Fat Yogurt (Imported from Italy)

I saw the Sunday matinee of The Producers. It was amusing, though too long at three hours. My friend L let me borrow some binoculars.

L said, “Look, Tiffany, the conductor is really young. I can tell by the back of his head.”

L should not have gotten me started. Throughout the show, whenever I borrowed the binoculars, I was trying to see how young and cute he was. It was very difficult to catch his profile. I decided there was an 80% chance he was cute and couldn’t figure out if he was in his early or mid-twenties. I bet he was a child protégé. I wondered where he lived. I bet he had beautiful hands. I wondered if he was straight. I bet he was straight, but got hit on a lot by gay men. That was the kind of man I was attracted to.

The kind of man I wasn’t attracted to was Jason Alexander. I wasn’t too interested in seeing Jason Alexander magnified. Whenever I looked at him (which was a lot because I watch Seinfeld re-runs) I pictured him naked. It was because I had seen nude portraits of him in his house.

I had gone through two interviews to be his family's nanny. My first interview was over the phone. The friend who had told me about the position warned me that Mrs. Alexander had been interviewing people for eight months. If I got the job, I would be their second nanny. I didn’t realize that people employed more than one nanny at once. The pay was something like 45K, and I would get to drive around a Lexus SUV. Of course, I would be with the kids, but I did love a smooth ride.

I had brushed up on child psychology online for the first phase of my interview (over the phone) and did a fabulous job coming up with PC answers. The only question I failed was: What are the symptoms of a concussion? Mrs. Alexander said the next step was to hang out with her and the family. Cool, I was going to hang out with George Costanza. I could handle that.

I had arrived at their sprawling Hancock Park house at 2PM. It was a beautiful day, but I had to stay inside and hang out with Mrs. Alexander and the kids. There were two boys. One was around 3 and the other was around 10. Mrs. Alexander and I had some innocuous chit chat before she went off on some kind of Shakespearian monologue. It was from a play I was not familiar with, so she got to feel superior. I don’t know why people assume that all writers have memorized every Shakespeare play. This woman was definitely eccentric. Who randomly launched into Shakespeare? She was a nervous type versus my calm demeanor. These types always loved me, but drove me insane. Luckily, shortly after this incident, we started a game of Battleship Galactic with the boys. I decided I was going to buy the game. It was as fun as I remembered it.

Then we went outside and the boys swam. A couple with two kids was already hanging at the pool. Where was Jason Alexander? I expected for him to make a grand entrance any minute now. That minute kept on stretching until someone mentioned he wasn’t coming home until much later that evening. I was wasting hours of my time and I wouldn’t get to see Jason. OK. I chatted with the couple while dangling my feet and legs in the pool.

Later I helped the older kid with a spontaneous story. I was digging him. He was like a mini Jason Alexander and his theatrical personality didn’t annoy me. I was impressed by his creativity. Yet, the younger kid obviously had inherited his mother’s nervous temperament. He seemed to be fragile emotionally. Maybe the other nanny could look after him.

I helped Mrs. Alexander prepare a quick dinner. I noticed that the Tupperwear leftovers in the fridge had dates on them. That was a great idea. I would have to try that myself. I didn’t like having to count back the days to see if my food was still good. However, did I want to work for someone who was this detailed?

Around the kitchen were some colored pencil drawings of Jason Alexander that Mrs. Alexander had drawn. You couldn’t see his private parts or anything, but I was still traumatized. I was picturing petite Mrs. Alexander having sex with Jason. It was a good thing that she loved his body. She was an artist and could perhaps appreciate all the body types.

I had kept on hoping that Jason would get home before I left, but now I didn’t care.

“Did I care to stay for dinner?” Mrs. Alexander had inquired.

“No, thanks.”

“Well, thank you for everything and I’ll be in touch.”

Except she wasn’t. I later found out from my friend that Mrs. Alexander had really liked me, but couldn’t get over the question I had failed during the phone interview.

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