text: A nanny job for the biggest name in the comic book industry. When I saw the want ad, I jumped at the chance. It shocked me to find out Drew Kirby had a child at all. Nobody talked about it, I saw no pictures, and heard absolutely nothing about there even being a woman in his life. Perpetually single, many people assumed he was gay. Of course, if you looked at his comics, you'd notice his fixation with female anatomy. Maybe he was bi? I'm a modern girl, so I made no judgments. Everything, the movies, the comics, the TV shows, have been amazing , especially Squirrel Woman and Vanessa Vixx. Notorious for his aloofness, the man lived in a gated mansion surrounded by tall brick ivy enveloped walls that gave no hints about the building's ownership, save one little bug eyed sculpture of Benny the Rat above the speaker box. I had to talk to a camera before I could even get inside the wrought iron barrier. Mr. Kirby's abode resembled the Lucasfilm Ranch, turreted white Victorian with a gnarled old tree out front. Again, no hint about what lay inside, except maybe the rather cliche fountain of Atlas holding up the world. For a rich man, the place had a light staff. Mr. Kirby himself answered the door, dressed in casual but expensive clothing. Although in his thirties, he looked much older, his face craggy, bags under the eyes, still handsome though. Hawk-like features, dark glittering eyes, stylish black hair...As an artist, not very well built, but he'd been known to take daily morning jogs. I wondered, was he single? I introduced myself, and he let me in. Only then did I see trappings of the Kerpow Comics universe, statues of the spandex clad action woman with the bushy tail, feathery Owl Woman, Jack Rager with his trademark sledgehammer, displays of action figures, movie costumes, masks, framed celebrity photos... "Is this my new nanny?" asked an elfin voice. I turned and saw a diminutive figure draped in a large hat, veil and long flowing dress. Even the hands had been concealed in opera gloves. "This is my daughter Amanda. Due to her skin condition and light sensitivity, we always have to keep her covered up, so you're not going to be able to look at her. Hope this won't be a problem for you." Kids with problems like that just pulled on my heart strings. "Oh no, sir. I've read about things like this. I understand completely." I knelt in front of her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Oh you poor thing!" The girl flinched. "Please no touching," the man blurted. "The nerve endings..." "I'm very sorry, sir. I would never-" "It's fine." Kirby's expression seemed to indicate he may have overstated things. "And please, call me Drew." I straightened. "Is there...anything else I need to know?" "She's very active. ADDHD. Try to keep up with her." "Oh," I breathed. "Looks like I got my work cut out for me...what happened to her mother, if you don't mind me asking? I've never heard anything-" "Long story. I'd rather not go into it." He left it at that. It wouldn't do me any good, financially, to pry, so I let it go, hoping maybe sometime I'd run into the woman, or find out in the course of conversation. Mr. Kirby outlined what he wanted me to do, and teach. I'd cook for the child, clean, teach school subjects, answer any questions she'd asked, no matter how random, personal or unimportant they seemed. Again, no touching. Every day I was to leave her alone in her bedroom for about an hour so she could take off her coverings and rest. He instructed me to knock before entering, wait for her to open the door, never open it myself. I was to go to the guest room at eight P.M. and stay there, I would call him on the cel if I wanted to go out or visit the kitchen. I could order delivery if I wanted, he'd bring it to the room for me. Weird instructions, but I just chalked it up to eccentric genius and a developmentally challenged daughter, doing whatever he said to do. He was , at least, prepared to give me paychecks bigger than any I'd ever received before. I felt sorry for the kid. She didn't seem to know anything...about anything. A lot of her questions didn't make sense, so detached from the world she'd become. I had to explain why it's unsafe to drink poison, why you couldn't fly from the roof if you wore a cape, and a lot of other basic things. I cooked lunches for her, but never dinner. Amanda wasn't just in that room for an hour, she was gone for the rest of the day, I assume because she was tired. After a couple times of being stood up like this, I gave up and went to my room. My employer never complained, in fact, I got room service. Drew apparently knew how to cook. Although he spent most his time in his home office making calls, or in the art studio, he'd bring meals to my room, and not bad ones either. I complimented him profusely, but he only looked embarrassed. I never got any signals from him being interested in me, but I didn't have to order or go out once. Not only that, he gave me a laptop to keep me busy during my down time. I started with the intention of teaching the child according to the formula of course departments, math, science, English and so forth, but I soon figured out that, according to her limited attention span, I had better chances of making a lesson stick if I sort of worked the lessons around Amanda's natural inquisitiveness, answering her questions in return for some math challenges, getting her a diary where I could see her English proficiency and suggest improvements, and so forth. I tried to get to know her better, but certain lines of questioning met resistance, such as how old she was, when her birthday was, or how her family life was going. "Everybody has a mother..." I told her about mine, hoping to get her to open up. "What's yours like?" I thought I saw a smile behind the veil. "Oh, she's nice. Awfully busy, though." "Does she...work?" Amanda nodded. "She's with the police department." Although it disappointed me to know Drew wasn't single, I still felt excited to know something about the mother. "Police officers do have a lot of work...how come she doesn't come here?" "She does. You just haven't seen her." "Does she...show up around eight?" "Yeah." "Why can't I see her?" "I'm not supposed to tell you." "I won't tell anyone. I promise." She sighed. "Daddy doesn't like it. He says the house will become a freak show and people won't leave us alone." "I won't let that happen, Amanda. I like you. Why does he think your mother is a freak? She works for the police department, right? She can't be that weird. " I wondered if the mother did something bad and got on the news. "Is she...in jail?" "No. Not anymore." "Oh. I'm sorry. You should let your mother know that it's okay. I don't judge." "Even if she's Vanessa Vixx?" I smirked. " Especially if she's Vanessa Vixx. She is my favorite cartoon character." "Good. She's my favorite mom. " I suppressed a giggle. Vanessa was a police officer, and a did vaguely recall a comic book in which the character got framed for a crime and had to fight her way out of a jail. "Now Amanda, we both know that cartoons are just make believe. In real life, police don't drive around with badgers in their cars." "Mommy does." She sounded disappointed that I didn't believe her. I told her a story about a friend of mine that lost her mother due to a divorce, and how irresponsible the mother had been. "Wow!" the child actually seemed amazed by my story. "I'm glad my mommy's not like that! My mommy loves me!" At this point, I wasn't sure what to believe, didn't know if the kid's mother was actually in the police department, or if that was all part of her imagination. "I'm sure she does...you know, people have all kinds of jobs. Sometimes people lose their jobs because of different things, and don't have money, or even a home. And that's okay. It's not their fault...did your mother lose her job?" "No. I just told you, she's a police officer with the ATPD." I groaned. "I've never seen an Animal Town Police officer in real life." "I can ask daddy if he'll let you see her. I'm sure he will, since you're such a big fan." I continued punching holes in her story. "How does your daddy... see Vanessa?" "She crossed over." "How?" "I dunno." That's about all I got from her about the subject. I gave up and taught her math (the kid excessively right brained), some history and social studies. That evening, I walked her to her room for her nightly alone time, as usual, but once she stepped inside, I noticed she hadn't closed the door all the way. I don't think she knew she'd made the mistake. Holding my breath and standing perfectly still as to not be noticed, I peered through the crack. My jaw dropped at what I saw. Amanda's outfit turned out to be an elaborate disguise. This whole time, the child had been wearing a mask under that veil, and when she pulled it away, I saw the unnaturally bright, colorful visage of a Saturday morning cartoon character. Button nose, baby doe eyes, candy apple red lips, large mouse-like ears. The hair I'd seen had also been a wig. Her `real hair' apparently was animated, red and pigtailed. I guess I must have gasped or something, for the girl suddenly turned to face me. I yelped, forced myself to look calm and friendly. "I'm sorry. I..." "It's okay. You would have found out sooner or later." "I have so many questions. How are you real? Where did you come from?" She looked bashful. "My daddy loves my mommy very much." I stared. "What?" "My mom really is Vanessa Vixx. And daddy..." Her skin darkened, took on a more realistic Caucasian hue. Somehow she could concentrate and make herself non-animated. "How?" Amanda shrugged. "I'm very special. A stork delivered me to the house." I furrowed my brow, not believing a word I was hearing, or what I saw. "Your...dad...and a lady from a comic book...they had you?" The girl nodded vigorously. "Don't tell, okay?"