Adriana Trigiani - Very Valentine

Gram turns and looks at her. “Orsola!”

“Teodora!” The young woman goes to Gram and gives her a hug.

“This is my granddaughter, Valentine.”

I extend my hand to the Tuscan hottie. “Nice to meet you. You must be Gianluca’s wife?”

Gianluca, Orsola, Dominic, and Gram laugh loud and long.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Gianluca is my papa.” Orsola grins. “You just made his big ego even bigger.”

“An Italian man with a big ego? That’s impossible,” I tell them.

Gram gives me a look that says, Watch it. Your humor doesn’t play in Arezzo.

She’s right, so I quickly cover my tracks. “Orsola, I’ve got to know. Where did you get those sandals?”

“Our friend Costanzo Ruocco made them for me on Capri. Every summer we visit on holiday.”

“I’m going to Capri in a few weeks.”

“Oh, you must visit him. I will give you his number and address before you go.”

I was hoping to meet other shoemakers on this trip, as there are artistic questions I have that Gram cannot answer, and sometimes, I have ideas that Gram doesn’t like, and it would be nice to run them by a master who has no stake in the argument.

Orsola follows Gram and Dominic to the back of the shop. Gianluca pulls out a few more samples and places them on the worktable. I sit down and begin choosing some for Gram to approve. There’s a supple beige calfskin that would be an excellent choice for our Osmina design. My head swims with the possibilities as I look around the shop. Leathers in shades of cream and ebony, embossed with small gold Florentine symbols, others in patterned basket weaves, still more in colors I only dream about: ice blue patent leather, deep ruby red suede and faux leopard on shiny black horsehair.

Gianluca pulled a drawer from the supply closet and set it on the table. It is filled with leather laces in pastel shades of mint green, pink, and gold; white leather buckles; black leather trim; and patent leather bows with hand-cut fasteners. I dump the contents of the drawer on the table, as there doesn’t seem to be two of any particular style.

I push the mound around, separating the samples. A metallic glint catches my eye. I pull a braid of gold leather, white satin ribbon, and white calfskin out of the pile. It’s very Chanel, braiding you might see on an expensive purse or even as a trim on a leather jacket, but there’s an original touch to it, a fourth skein of twisted flat hemp that gives a straw-and-hay effect to the gold.

“Orsola braids the leather,” Gianluca says.

“This is magnificent.” I study the braid of gold under the light. “I just designed a shoe this would work on.”

“Orsola can make anything you need.”

“She’s very talented. And beautiful. Your wife must be a knockout because your daughter…” I whistle.

He smiles. “Orsola’s mother is beautiful. But I’m divorced from her.”

“I thought divorce was illegal in Italy.”

“Not anymore.” He turns and opens a cupboard filled with brightly colored suedes. He lifts a few samples out and places them on the table.

Gram appears in the doorway of the back of the shop and leans in. Her knees don’t seem to be bothering her now. “So, do you see anything you like?”

“We’re in trouble.” I hold up a sheet of soft calfskin. “I like everything.”

Dominic stands behind Gram, placing his hand on the small of her back. “I don’t have too much of that,” he says.

“How much do you need?” Gianluca asks.

“We can get about three pairs per sheet, right, Gram?”

Gram nods.

“Do you have four sheets?” I ask Gianluca.

“We do.”

“We’ll take them.” I look at Gram.

She nods her approval. “Val, why don’t you choose the rest?”

“Because I’m not sure what we need?” My voice breaks.

“Yes, you are.”

“Gram, it’s an entire year’s worth of inventory. You trust me with this?”

“Absolutely.”

Gram turns to face Dominic. “See my knees?” She lifts her skirt. “I need new ones.”

“New ones?”

“Titanium. I’m told they’ll give me the legs of a showgirl and then I can climb these hills like a goat. But, for now, I’ll just have to lean on you.”

Dominic extends his arm, Gram takes it, and they turn to go.

“Uh…where are you going?” I call after her pleasantly.

“Dominic’s going to show me a new technique he’s using to emboss leather.”

I’ll bet, I think to myself as they go. Gianluca has moved another large stack of leather from the shelves for me to go through.

I take my sketchbook out of my purse and flip through it to find my list of things we need.

Gianluca stands behind me as my sketchbook falls open to my design of the Bergdorf’s shoe.

“This is yours?” he asks.

I nod that it is.

“Bellissima.” His eyes narrow as he looks at it more closely. “Ambitious, no?”

“Well, it is complicated,” I say, “but-”

“Si, si,” he interrupts with a smile. “It’s for you to figure out. You imagined it and now you will bring it to life.”

I return my attention to one of the sheets of leather on the table in front of us. Gianluca watches me as I examine the leather under the lights, checking for patina, finish, and suppleness. I roll the corner of the sheet, as Gram taught me, checking for splits or creases in the leather, but the material is as smooth and luxurious in my hands as dough.

Sometimes tanners will add elements to the finishing solution to cover flaws in the leather. Since our shoes are handcrafted, you can’t hide inconsistencies in the materials, as you might with machine-made shoes. We often resew seams as we custom-fit the shoes, so it takes strong, uncompromised leather to sew and resew. I run my hands over the expanse of the buttery suede. No wonder my family has used this company for years. These are first-class goods. I look up at Gianluca and smile in approval.

He smiles back at me.

I lift several sheets of leather off the stack and put them to the side. I return the bulk of them to the shelf behind me.

Gianluca stays in the doorway for what seems like a long time. What’s he looking at? I look up at him. He looks amused, which is odd, because I’m not saying anything. Is there something about me that’s funny, even when I’m not trying to be? Funnyone translates, I guess. That’s good to know, but enough already. “That’s okay, I got it.” I wave the braid at him so he is free to go.

“Va bene.” He grins and goes. But I think he’d rather stay.

I WAKE TO THE SOUND of a soft rain tapping against the tile roof. The clock says it’s five o’clock in the morning. I don’t want to move from underneath these warm blankets, but I left all the windows open and I can see where the floor is damp from the rain. I get up and close the windows that look out over the pond, then go to close the ones that look out over the town square.

There’s a low, thick mist hovering over the village, like tufts of pink cotton candy. Through the fog, I see a woman walking toward the inn. I’m curious to see who might be out and about this early in the morning.

The woman moves slowly, but as she comes closer, I see her tie the ends of her scarf underneath her chin. It’s Gram. What is she doing out at this hour? Her trench coat is unbuttoned below the belt, and underneath the coat I can see the moss green skirt she wore yesterday. Dear God. She didn’t sleep in her room last night.

I begged off from a late supper at the Vechiarellis’ last night knowing I needed to take care of a few e-mails and check my list for the fabric shopping today. But I could also tell that I was a third wheel and that Gram wanted to be alone with Dominic.