Adriana Trigiani - Very Valentine

“We offer six styles of wedding shoes. My father-in-law named his designs after his favorite characters in operas. The Lola, inspired by Cavalleria Rusticana, is by far the most popular,” Gram begins. “It’s a sandal with a stacked heel. We often embellish the straps with small charms and trims. It’s usually made with calfskin, but I have made it in double-sided satin.”

Debra looks at the shoe. “It’s lovely.” She puts it down on the table. “But it’s too light and airy. I need substantial.”

Gram opens the next box. “This is the Ines from Il Trovatore.”

Debra examines the classic kid pump with its sleek heel. “Getting there, but not quite right.”

“The Mimi from La Bohème is an ankle boot most often ordered in satin faconne or embossed velvet. I add delicate grommets and grosgrain ribbon laces.” Gram places the boot on the table.

“Gorgeous,” Julie says. “But a boot would never fall off.”

“The Gilda from Rigoletto is an embroidered mule with a stiletto heel, though we’ve often made it without the high heel.”

“That’s my favorite,” June pipes up.

“The Osmina from Suor Angelica is a Mary Jane with buttons. The bride’s choice of a double or single strap, or a T-strap.”

Debra squints at the shoe. “No.”

“The Flora from La Traviata is fairly new. I designed this style in 1989.” Gram shows them a calfskin ballet flat with ribbons that crisscross over the ankle and go midway up the calf. “I got tired of sending brides over to Capezio, so I decided to get a piece of that market with this shoe. It really was the only style we were missing from the original collection.”

“If I was getting married again, I’d wear those in a heartbeat.” Debra points to the Flora. “But this isn’t about what I like. It’s about our character.” Debra picks up the Gilda. “I think it’s this one. It’s breathtaking. And a mule could fall off.”

“That’s the one my husband designed in 1950. So you are historically accurate.”

“And you, Mrs. Angelini, are the best-kept secret in shoes.” Debra smiles for the first time. I don’t know if it’s from relief or the shoes, but she’s pleased.

Gram has a look of complete satisfaction on her face. Nobody messes with Gram when it comes to shoes. She is the expert.

“These are size sevens,” Debra says, looking inside the shoe. “How much do we owe you?”

“I’m afraid we never sell the samples.”

“Well, you have to.” Debra’s smile disappears. “This is an emergency.”

“Actually, maybe you could just loan them to us? We would fully acknowledge your services in the film’s credits,” Julie offers.

“That would be fine.” Gram shakes Julie’s hand.

“Megan, wrap them up and meet us at the costume trailer,” Debra commands. “Mrs. Angelini, we’ll need you to come to the set, too, of course.”

“Me? Why?” Gram is confused.

“We’re shooting the scene now. If there are any problems, you’ll need to be there to address them. I can’t take a chance with that”-she points to the Fougeray-“happening again.”

Gram looks at me. “May I bring…”

“Bring, bring,” Debra says impatiently. “Megan will show you the way.” Debra pulls on her coat as they move to the door. They go as quickly as they came, like the lightning from the storm that pierces the room in a flash and then is gone. I grab Megan’s sweatshirt out of the dryer. She pulls it on.

“I could find Our Lady of Pompeii with my eyes closed.” Gram throws her hands up. “Grab my kit, Valentine. Let’s go.”

There’s always some television show or movie filming on the streets of Greenwich Village. The forty-seven versions of Law and Order are shot in Manhattan, so it’s rare when there isn’t a crew somewhere, filming something. We’ve become accustomed to waiting on corners until the cameras stop rolling, then tiptoeing over snakes of cables and wires, past trailers as crew members talk into headsets and check their clipboards.

When Gram was young, there was a magical place called Hollywood where movies were made. Now, movie stars walk our neighborhood streets like ordinary people. It ceases to be magic when I see Kate Winslet three people in front of me in line at the Starbucks on Fourteenth Street, so close I can see she wears Essie’s Ballet Slippers nail polish. They’re not icons when you can bump into them while running errands. Gram never saw Bette Davis at her bodega or Hedy Lamarr at the hairdresser’s.

“Follow me,” Megan says, motioning to us as Gram and I enter Our Lady of Pompeii Church. She turns and smiles shyly. “I forgot. You guys know this place better than me.”

The scent of spicy incense hangs in the air from last Sunday’s High Mass. The polished marble floor is covered by boxes of lighting instruments and wheels of cable. The table where the Sunday bulletins are fanned is filled with bagels, plastic coffee urns, and heaps of snacks. How strange to see the old Gothic church so out of context. Its rich carved pews, stained-glass windows, and baroque altar went from being a house of God to being a movie backdrop in no time.

“I can’t believe Father Prior let them use the church,” Gram whispers.

“Even the Catholic Church likes good publicity,” I whisper back. “And a hefty rental fee.”

I pick out the star of the movie because she’s wearing a wedding gown.

“That’s Anna Christina,” Megan tells us. “She’s an unknown until this movie comes out, then she’s Reese Witherspoon after Legally Blonde.”

Anna Christina appears to be barely twenty years old. She is tiny, with an hourglass figure. Her oval face is framed by waxy black curls that create a startling contrast against her flawless skin. Her lips are cherries in the snow, a true red that says 1950. Debra is on her knees next to her, fussing with the shoes.

“They’re too big.” Debra stands, looking like she’s about to blow. Standing next to me, I can practically feel Megan’s blood pressure skyrocket.

“Let me see.” Gram sails through the chaos toward the actress, but needs to grip Debra’s arm in order to kneel down. “Damn knees,” I hear her say as I thread through the crowd and kneel next to her. Gram presses the toe and the vamp of the satin mule then gingerly slides it off Anna Christina’s foot. Gram looks at Debra. “Which shoe comes off in the scene?”

“The right one.”

“Give me the cotton batting,” Gram says to me. “We’re going to sew it in.”

Gram unspools the cotton and cuts a square gently with a small pair of gold work scissors. I thread the needle and make a quick knot. Gram places the batting in the toe of the shoe and slips it back on Anna’s foot. It’s still loose. Gram takes another square of cotton batting and makes an arch in the vamp of the shoe. After another quick fitting, Gram hands me the shoe and the batting. “Sew it.”

I push the delicate needle through the fabric and into the cotton from the vamp to the toe. I stitch a tiny seam anchoring the cotton. I do the same on the other side of the shoe, in essence, making a shoe within a shoe. Gram takes the slipper and places it back on the actress’s foot.

“Now it’s too snug!” Debra cries. “It will never fall off.”

“We aren’t done,” Gram says in a tone of voice I haven’t heard since she caught Tess and me drawing on her bedroom walls when I was five. The set falls into a hushed silence. I look up and see the director, a young man in a baseball cap and a down vest, pacing as though he’s awaiting the birth of quadruplets. Gram hands the shoe back to me. “Make a gusset on the left side.”

I sew a seam, tightening the fabric over the instep. I hand it back to Gram.