The Shoemaker's Wife(92)

With a sketch of a military uniform pinned to the wall before them, the girls began to rip out the old elements of the costumes, used in a production of Don Giovanni, careful to save the frog enclosures, brass buttons, and metal studs. Every clasp, trim, and embellishment in the shop was reimagined and used repeatedly. A button was never wasted.

“I think I’ve found my future husband,” Laura said.

“Where?”

“In the lobby this morning.”

“Not the door attendant.”

“No, he’s entirely too short for me. I found a tall one. His name is Colin Chapin. He works in accounting.”

“How do you know?”

“I asked him.”

“You just walked up to him and started talking?”

“I had to. I felt the tug of destiny. I’m not like you. I don’t have to be dragged into love by my braids. He’s going to take me to the show. He likes westerns, especially Tom Mix.”

“I didn’t know you liked westerns.”

“I don’t,” Laura said, “but I like him. He seems wise. Colin is ten years older than me.”

“You just came out and asked him how old he was?”

“No.” Laura laughed. “I have some couth! I asked Janet Megdadi in the office.”

“You are thorough.”

“Gotta be. Plus, I found out he’s a widower.”

Enza shook her head, amused. Laura Heery was, above all things, thorough.

“Enza, you know what my dream is for you? I want you to stop living like you did in Hoboken. You’re free now. Nobody’s gonna take away your happiness ever again.”

Freedom came naturally to Laura. Enza wished it came more naturally to her. Laura had a way of bringing out the best in Enza, and Enza was masterful at keeping Laura focused.

Enza laid a particularly ornate chorus jacket out on the worktable. She scribbled chalk marks across the lapels and down the sleeves.

“This one was a general,” she said. She took her small work scissors and began to disassemble the hardware on the face of the jacket. She attacked the small stitches, pulling out the threads quickly.

“Did you know him personally?”

Enza ceased her ripping and looked up.

“He’d rather have taken a bullet, the way you’re ripping out that lining,” a man said, in a deep voice with honey edges. Enza looked up into the stranger’s blue eyes. He ran his hand through his straight black hair and smiled. This is a handsome man, Enza thought. He must be a baritone, from the timbre of his speaking voice.

The angles of this man were all sharp. Square shoulders, a firm jaw, and a straight nose, but a beautiful mouth, with full lips over straight white teeth. His suit, perfectly cut for his lean body, was navy blue with a light blue pinstripe. His starched collar was snapped with a gold cross bar. His fitted vest was fastened with ivory buttons. Enza also noticed that the sleeves of his jacket broke perfectly at the wrist, revealing the crisp shirt cuffs underneath. His cuff links were deep blue lapis lazuli squares set in gold. He had beautiful hands.

“I’m Vito Blazek,” he said.

“Are you one of the singers?” Enza asked.

“Publicity. Best job in the building. All I have to do is let the papers know that Signor Caruso is singing, and four thousand tickets are sold that minute. Sometimes I like to come and watch the real work of the opera taking place.”

“I have an extra pair of scissors for you,” Enza joked.

Unfolding his arms, he leaned across the table. His skin had the clean scent of cedar and lime. “I’m tempted,” he said with a grin.

“I bet you are,” Laura said. “I’m her best friend, Laura Heery, and if you want to flirt with her, you need my approval.”

“What do I have to do to impress you?”

“I’m thinking.” Laura squinted at him.

“You ladies have discernment.” He smiled. “I’m afraid I haven’t gotten your names yet.”

“Enza Ravanelli.”

“Sounds like an opera. Ravanelli? Northern Italy?” he said. “I’m Hungarian and Czech, born in New York City. Makes for an interesting stew.”

“I’ll bet,” Laura said, still giving him the once-over. “Nobody knows about stews like the Irish.”

“Hey, Veets, we gotta blow,” a young man said from the doorway.

“On my way,” Vito called over his shoulder, then added, “I hope I see you later.”

“We’ll be here, sewing our little hearts out,” Laura said as they watched him go.

“This job has perks.” Laura whistled. “If you decide to go out on a date with Mr. Blazek, I’m going to make you a new hat.”

Enza chalked the inseam of the coat. “I like blue,” Enza said. “Something bright—peacock blue.”

Laura smiled, pulling stitches out of another jacket.

Serafina pushed the door open to the workshop and placed a stack of files on the worktable. She surveyed the work of the seamstresses down the line. She lifted the finished chorus jacket, nodding her head in approval. “I have a job for you, Enza. Signor Caruso is back in the morning. His costumes are ready, but they need some adjustments. I’d like you to assist me.”

“I’d be honored to attend to Signore,” Enza said, trying to mask her surprise. After Serafina disappeared, taking the finished jacket with her, the girls on the machines congratulated Enza. Laura was so thrilled for her friend, she let out a whoop.