Adriana Trigiani - Brava, Valentine

“What kind of shoes are you making?” I ask Roberta.

“Dress shoes. Men’s. These are oxblood leather for Ermenegildo Zegna.”

Roberta motions for me to stand back.

Sandra grips the handle on the overhead saw and guides it to the layers of leather on the table. Then, with one calibrated movement, she drops the blade onto the paper. The motor shrieks as the blade bores into the blue veins.

Sandra guides the machine with her hands, anticipating every nuance and movement of the blade as she goes. She uses the strength of her entire body as she carves. Her shoulders separate as she lifts the blade and guides it to and fro over the pattern.

I cut from June’s pattern by hand; my margin of error is great. Sandra, however, must maintain complete control; she has to hit the mark every time she drops the blade. One slip, and the layers of expensive leather will be ruined.

Roberta motions for me to follow her back through the factory to the office. Roberta walked a few steps ahead of me throughout the tour. She doesn’t do chummy, and while she is polite, her manner is brusque. I can see that there’s warmth beneath the frosty veneer, but she’s not letting out much sunshine on my behalf. I hope she likes me, but I really can’t tell yet.

“I appreciate the tour,” I tell her. “Your operation is very impressive.”

“Not what you were expecting?” she asks.

“I didn’t know what to expect.”

Roberta looks off. Her expression reminds me of my grandfather, a man who never worried about pleasing people, but rather, took his time when deciding about someone. Like him, Roberta is emotionally detached. I’m not offended by her cool demeanor; I find her attitude familiar, so I understand it. Roberta Angelini is first and foremost a professional.

I noticed when we went through the factory that she did not speak directly to any of the operators, and yet she connected to the work they were doing. Sometimes she would nod, or touch a shoulder here and there, or pick up a last and check the workmanship. It was apparent that she has the respect of the workers. I imagine with this size of an operation, she would have to be a tough taskmaster. The leadership role seems to come naturally to Roberta. My new cousin is a straight shooter, and I will have to be the same when it comes to dealing with her.

“Roberta, look, let me say this up front. I’m here to see your operation because I need a manufacturer for my shoes. And I would like to keep the contract for the Bella Rosa in the family.”

“We are family,” she says. “But a fractured family.”

“Maybe we can repair the damage. Whatever it is. I know that we just met and this is all so new-for both of us. In fact, I didn’t know my great-grandfather had a brother at all-”

“Ah,” she says. “And we knew all about Michel.”

I find this odd. I am very curious to find out why there was a big secret-and why one brother, Rafael, kept the reason alive, while my great-grandfather did not.

“It sounds like there was a very big problem,” I say.

She nods.

“Roberta, I’m here to explore the possibility of going into business together. It would benefit you-and it would benefit me.”

“Of course. And maybe then, we can come to a place of peace.”

Her use of the word peace tells me that there must have been one hell of a war between the brothers. Roberta does not separate her family life from the world of her work; in that way, she mirrors our tradition on Perry Street. Family loyalty is the backbone of her operation, and she protects it as she does the level of workmanship in her factory.

“I would like to try,” I tell her.

“But to be honest, I don’t know if that is possible,” she says.

Roberta is tough. This isn’t going to be easy. It’s as if she knows what I’m thinking, and gives a little.

“My mother knows the story best.” Her expression softens.

“May I have the honor of meeting your mother?” I ask.

“She takes care of my son at home. Today is not good.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

“I will ask her,” Roberta says.

“Thank you. Would you mind if I spent the afternoon observing in the factory? I know you’re busy, and I don’t want to take you away from your work.”

“Of course you may stay. I can place you with the foreman.”

“I would like that.”

Roberta goes into her office to make some calls. I pull out my cell phone to call Gianluca at the hotel. The phone in the room rings and rings. The call reverts to the front desk. The operator asks if I want to leave a message. I leave my cell phone number for Gianluca, and the message that I will spend the rest of the afternoon observing production at the factory. I’ll be home in time for dinner.

I ask the receptionist to call me a cab.

Once outside the factory, I feel as though I can breathe again. The urgency of the work inside the factory, the noise and the intensity of the operation, have exhausted me. It’s so different from our shop on Perry Street. There, it is peaceful in contrast. We work long hours, but we take our time. Here, it’s a mad rush to the finishing department.

I spent the afternoon observing the assembly of the shoes. The more pieces to the pattern, the more difficult it is for the operator to assemble the shoe. I sketched as I observed, trying to figure out how to get the Bella Rosa down to four pieces instead of eight on my master pattern. If I can consolidate the operations on my design, it will speed the process in production, and as a result we will be able to make the shoe more cheaply without sacrificing quality. I want to use microfiber fabric, and it appears that the use of fabric will also speed up the process, compared to cutting leather or suede.

The cab drives up and stops in front of the factory.

“Valentine?” Roberta comes to the doorway as I’m about to jump into the cab. “How was your day?”

“I learned a lot. Thank you.”

“Will I see you in the morning?”

“First thing.” I thank her and get into the cab. I give the driver my destination, and then I slump down in the back seat, exhausted.

I didn’t see Roberta all afternoon; she left me on my own. The foreman in production was helpful, but I didn’t want to bother him with silly questions, so I just watched carefully and stayed alert through the process and shift changes. I learned a lot watching the mechanics of the operation.

I call my mother. Dutiful daughter that I am, I know she wants daily reassurance that I’ve not been kidnapped by roving Argentinian gangs looking for prototype sample shoes.

“Ma, I have news.”

“Roberta can make the shoes?” Before I answer, I hear her calling out to my father. “Dutch? Dutch-Valentine is fine. She got there, landed, and went to the factory.” She comes back to me. “Oh, Val, this is wonderful. What is Roberta like? Is she like our people? I mean, after all, she is our people.”

“She’s very pretty. Devoted to her work-she runs a big factory, and they do it all-cutting, production, finishing. It’s really amazing.”

“How are your clothes working out? Your wardrobe?”

“You were right. The black linen suit is a classic, and it goes anywhere. Mother knows best.”

“Toldja,” Mom says smugly.

“Ma, I was a little surprised when I met Roberta.”

“Why? Was it déjà vu? Did you get chills? Was it spiritual? Does she look like us?”

“Um, yeah, a lot. She has Jaclyn’s nose.”

“Isn’t that just uncanny? The Angelini onward and upward tilt! It’s a great nose. Wish I had gotten it without the help of Dr. Mavrakakis.”

“Yeah, and she has thick, shiny hair like Tess.”

“I knew she’d be a brunette.”