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.
Enza took a deep breath. She knew this was the most important moment in her professional life thus far—the moment she was chosen and singled out for her talent. She had worked since she was fourteen years old for this opportunity. Her skills, nurtured in Mrs. Sabatino’s dress shop on the mountain and perfected by rote in the factory, had finally been revealed in full. Her talent was no longer a private matter; it was on display for all to see and appreciate on the stage of the Metropolitan Opera. And now, she would hem the