The Shoemaker's Wife(74)

“Rough work.”

“Better than the coal mine.”

“We work in a blouse factory in Hoboken,” Laura said with a smile. “We’d love to bring you one some time.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Carla smiled. “But I can’t be bribed. Ciro has many girlfriends, most of whom I do not approve of—the ones I know about, anyway.”

Enza exhaled. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. Ciro was not married.

Carla continued, “Girls nowadays are so fresh. They don’t wait for proper courting. They just show up and come right out with their demands. They line up at this counter to look at Ciro Lazzari like they’re buying cheese.”

“I’m not here to buy cheese, Signora. I was looking for an old friend, just wondering how he was getting along.” She was relieved that Ciro was not there. She didn’t know if she could have borne it if he hadn’t remembered her. “Thank you, Signora. I hope you and Signor Zanetti have a lovely holiday.”

Enza and Laura turned to go.

The door of the shop opened wide, the bells on the hook jingling loudly. Signor Zanetti entered first, followed by a couple, Luigi Latini and his girlfriend, Pappina, a delicate brunette with a pink porcelain complexion. She was followed by Felicitá Cassio in a wide-brimmed red hat and matching suit. Finally Ciro Lazzari, in a fetching navy blue three-piece suit with an elegant blue-green silk tie, the exact color of his eyes, entered, carrying two bottles of cold champagne. Suddenly the room was full of people.

Enza turned away, wishing she had never set foot in this shop.

“Which one of you handsome gentlemen is Ciro Lazzari?” Laura asked.

Signor Zanetti blushed at the forward young American.

“Well, you know it’s not the old one, he’s mine,” Carla said.

“Don’t look at me. I’m Luigi Latini. I’m neither handsome”—he looked at Remo—“nor old.”

“I’m Ciro. What can I do for you?” Ciro asked.

“My friend is an old acquaintance of yours,” Laura said. “From the Alps.”

“If I’m lucky, it’s Sister Teresa from the convent kitchen of San Nicola,” Ciro joked.

“This young lady hasn’t taken the veil.” Laura pulled on her gloves.

“Not yet, anyway. Hello, Ciro,” Enza said quietly.

“Enza!” Ciro took her hands into his as he looked at her. The pretty girl from the mountain had become a beauty. Her figure was shapely and trim; in her gray and beige day suit, she looked like a sleek sparrow.

Felicitá crossed her arms across her chest as she checked her face in the mirror behind the cash register.

“Enza, this is Felicitá Cassio,” Ciro hastily introduced them. He kept his eyes on Enza, his expression one of wonder. He had so many thoughts. He was struck by how sophisticated she seemed. How far she had come in the six years since he saw her at Saint Vincent’s! Only another immigrant would understand what it took to come here so young, and grow up in a place that was so different from home. Clearly, Enza had thrived under the challenge. Ciro was impressed, and his heart was beating fast.

“Felicitá was the May Queen at Our Lady of Pompeii, six years ago,” Carla said in a tone that implied Felicitá was no longer at the peak of her desirability.

“I’ve never met a real queen before,” said Laura.

“Oh, I don’t rule a country or anything. I just crowned the Blessed Lady.”

Laura shot Enza a look.

“Well, they made a lovely choice,” Enza said generously. She looked to the door, wanting to escape this awkward situation. She was really going to let Laura Heery have it when they got back on the street.

Ciro stepped forward. “Remo, this is Enza. Remember? You met her at the hospital when I cut my hand.”

“This can’t be the same girl.” Remo sized her up. “Che bella.”

“I was very sick when you saw me,” Enza said.

“Hoboken agrees with you,” said Remo.

“Yeah. It’s the beauty capital of the world,” Laura said, causing everyone to laugh, especially Carla.

“Carla, did you offer them a drink?” Remo asked.

“I was about to take the trays to the roof. There are fireworks.” Carla turned to Laura and Enza. “Would you like to join us?”

Enza looked at Ciro, who had not taken his eyes off her. “We can’t. I need to go home.”

“No, you don’t,” said Laura. “Enough with the Cinderella routine. You work hard enough over there. This is your day to celebrate. Count us in, Signora Zanetti. And thank you. Happy Columbus Day!” She clapped her hands together.

“This is great. What a surprise.” Ciro picked up the tray for Carla. “I want to hear all about Cinderella.”

“I’ll bet you do,” Felicitá said as she adjusted her hat. “He loves a fairy tale, this one.”

The Zanettis’ roof on Mulberry Street was modest. Covered in tar paper, it had a low bench, a few straight-backed wooden chairs, distressed from rain, and a string of lights with fat clear bulbs strung across the chimney wall.

The rooftops of Little Italy were a village unto themselves, a few stories off the ground, but so close, the children could easily hop from one building to another. Most rooftops were decorated simply; some had tomato plants and herb gardens, others flowerpots and small grills for cooking. But tonight they were filled, like a choir loft, high above the action, with revelers waiting for the fireworks.