Very Valentine

“This place is really old.” Megan looks around and drinks in the operation.

“Yes it is.” Gram nods. “How do you like making movies?”

“I’m so low on the ladder, you don’t need a step to reach me.” Megan sighs.

There is another loud knock at the door. “That’s them!” Megan panics, puts her coffee down, and goes to the door.

Megan returns followed by two women who talk rapidly to each other and at the same time seem preoccupied. “This is Debra McGuire, our costume designer.” Megan almost curtsies.

Debra’s long, dark brown hair is worn in a loose braid to her waist. She wears bright red lipstick, and has half-moon-shaped brown eyes that squint around the room as she takes in our operation. She peels off her black patent trench coat. Underneath, she wears turquoise sari pants tucked into yellow patent leather wellies, a short pink silk skating skirt over the pants. On top, she wears a yellow-and-white-pin-striped band jacket that looks like she stole it off the body of Sergeant Pepper. It’s hard to say how old she is. She could be in her thirties, but she has the presence and command of a woman of fifty. “Have you fixed the shoe?” she snaps at Megan.

“No,” Gram interjects. “And who are you?” Gram turns to the woman standing beside Debra.

“I’m Julie Durk, the producer.”

Julie is in her thirties, with pale skin and blue eyes. Unlike the demanding Debra, she dresses like me, in faded denim jeans and a black turtleneck and black suede boots. Julie also wears a navy blue baseball jacket that says LUCIA, LUCIA in red where the team logo would go.

“Where are we?” Debra looks around the shop and then at Megan, more a

“The Angelini Shoe Company,” Gram tells her. “We make custom wedding shoes.”

“I’ve never heard of you.” Debra circles around the cutting table to get a view of the pattern June is working on. “Do you know Barbara Schaum?”

“The sandal maker in the East Village? She’s wonderful,” Gram says. “She’s been around since the early sixties.”

“This shop has been here since 1903,” I say, hoping this woman will get the hint to be respectful to my grandmother.

“Not many of you left.” Debra moves over to study the shoe I’ve been working on. “You guys do what again?”

“We make wedding shoes.” Now I’m peeved.

“Ms. McGuire has a lot on her mind,” Megan apologizes for her boss.

“Please.” Debra waves her hand at Megan dismissively. “Now why can’t you fix my shoe?”

“It’s beyond repair,” I tell her.

“We have to do reshoots, then,” Julie says, biting her lip.

“It’s a fashion film,” Debra snaps. “We have to get it right.”

“Who made this shoe?” Gram holds up the broken model.

“Fougeray. He’s French.”

“If you talk to him, tell him it’s better to use titanium in the heel.”

“He’s dead, but I’ll tell his rep,” Debra says sarcastically.

“Young lady, I’m busy. I don’t need your attitude,” Gram continues, unfazed. “The shoemaker glued the shaft.” She lifts up the heel. “That’s inferior workmanship.”

“They were very expensive.” Julie sounds apologetic, but I’m not sure if it’s directed to Gram or to Debra.

“I’m sure they were. But they’re poorly made, no matter how much they cost.” Gram raises her eyebrows. “So how much of the shoe do you see in the scene?”

“The shoe is the scene. There’s a close-up, a tracking shot-” Debra puts her hands on the cutting table and bows her head to think.

“Maybe-,” Julie begins.

Debra stops her. “If they can’t repair it, they can’t repair it. We’ll have to reshoot with a different shoe.”

“Would you like to see our collection?” Gram asks. Debra doesn’t answer. “We’re not French, but we’re experts.”

“Okay, okay, let’s see what you have.” Debra sits down on a work stool and rolls to the table. “You dragged me over here.” She looks at Megan. She folds her hands on the pattern paper. “So dazzle me.” She looks at us.

“This place is a wonderland of possibilities,” Megan says, looking at Gram and me with hope.

“It’s a custom shoe shop,” Gram corrects her. “Valentine, bring out the samples, please.”

“What are you looking for, exactly?” June asks Debra.

“It’s a Cinderella moment.” Debra stands and dramatizes the scene. “The bride runs out of the church and her shoe falls off.”

“Bad luck,” Gram says.

“How do you know?” Debra says.

“It’s an old Italian wives’ tale. Is the movie about an Italian?”

“Yes. A grocer’s daughter in the Village.”

“Megan said it takes place in 1950.” Gram looks at Megan, who smiles gratefully for including her in the professional conversation. “One of our styles was designed in 1950 by my husband.”

“I’d love to see it,” Debra says, smiling with feigned enthusiasm.

I line up on the worktable the boxes from the sample closet. Gram takes a soft fla

“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 faco

“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.”