DiCamillo? Nobody like her in finishing. They’re competent, hard workers, but you have real talent. You have ideas. You thought of piping a white blouse in baker’s twine, and the stores reordered twice, they were so popular. We don’t need these machines. Real couturiers sew everything by hand. I’ve been doing some asking around,” Laura whispered. “We can get jobs in the city.”
The city.
Whenever Enza heard those words, she was filled with a sense of possibility.
Laura had been born in New Jersey, but she longed for New York. She knew the names of the families who built mansions on Fifth Avenue, where to find the best cannoli in Little Italy, where the best pickles were brined on the Lower East Side, and the times of the marionette shows in the Swedish Cottage in Central Park. But Laura also knew her rights on the job, and how to ask for a raise. Laura Heery thought like a man in a man’s world.
“Do you really think we can get jobs?” Enza asked nervously.
“We’ll take any job until we can get a job sewing. You could be a secretary, and I could be a maid. Can you imagine working in an atelier on Fifth Avenue?”
“I almost can,” Enza says excitedly. Talking to Laura was like opening a treasure chest.
“Well, dream big!” Laura had been waiting for a partner to help her make the crossing to Manhattan. Her family swore they’d disown her if she ventured into the city alone, but now that Enza was game, they could make the leap.
“Where will we live?” Enza’s mind raced.
“We’ll figure that out. There are hotels for women. We could share a room.”
“I’d like that.” Enza had visited Laura’s family in Englewood Cliffs. They were a big family, living in a small, clean house filled with Laura’s nieces and nephews.
Most weekends, Laura hopped on the ferry to window-shop in Manhattan. She was inspired by the windows on Madison Avenue, filled with crystal flasks of perfume, leather satchels, and hand-tooled silver pens. She imagined owning fine things and taking care of them. She stopped and admired the shiny motorcars that seemed as long as a city block, the society ladies in hats and gloves who got in and out of them with the help of a chauffeur. She looked up at their windows and imagined living inside spacious rooms with billowing draperies and paintings framed in gold leaf.
Whenever she heard Laura describe New York City and all it had to offer, it made Enza want to be a part of it too. No matter what happened at work, Laura was upbeat and positive; she lifted Enza’s spirits, bolstered her courage, and looked out for her in every way. Laura was a shot of emerald green in a gray world.
“We just have to pull the money together,” Laura said. “I have some savings. Do you think you could put some money aside?”
“I’ll add a shift and do more piecework. And I’ll write to Mama and tell her not to expect most of my check until I get a new job.”
“Good.” Laura looked at Enza, who had a look of doubt and fear on her face. “Don’t be afraid. We’ll figure it out.”
When the night shift was over and they’d clocked out, Enza and Laura often left the factory through the second-story fire escape so they might watch the sun come up behind the island of Manhattan. The soft silence was broken by the rhythmic chuff of early-morning trains behind them, while in the distance, the Hudson River’s placid surface shimmered like a mirror. Beyond the river, in the first rays of sunrise, Manhattan seemed dipped in silver.
The city, their destination and dreamscape, was made of glass and stone. Would those windows be filled with kind faces? Behind those doors, would they find jobs? And somewhere along the wide avenues and side streets, or tucked in the gnarl of winding lanes in Greenwich Village, would they find a place to live?
Laura encouraged Enza to imagine a new life, to create what she hoped for in her mind’s eye. Enza reserved her dreams for her family and hadn't ever thought to a picture a better life for herself. Now, with Laura's encouragement, she would. One day, Enza would know her dream when she held it. Every detail would be recognizable, and the future would fall into place, like the stitches on a hem, one leading to the next.
They dreamed of one room, one window, two beds, a chair, a burner to